The mensch were having a meeting—a private, secret meeting, or so they supposed. Xar knew all about it, of course. He was seated at his ease in the Sartan library in the citadel. The mensch were gathered down by the garden maze—a good distance away, but Xar clearly heard every word they were saying.
“What is it you don’t like about him, Aleatha?” the human female was asking. What was her name? Xar couldn’t recall. Again, he didn’t waste the effort.
“He gave me this lovely necklace,” the human was continuing. “See. I think it must be a ruby. And look at the cunning little squiggly mark cut into it.”
“I got one, too,” said the elf Paithan. “Mine’s a sapphire. And it has the same squiggle. Lord Xar said that when I wore it, someone would be watching over me. Isn’t it pretty, Aleatha?”
“I think it’s ugly.” The elf female spoke with scorn. “And I think he’s ugly—”
“He can’t help how he looks.”
“Something I’m certain you can understand, Roland,” Aleatha interjected coolly. “As to those ‘gifts,’ he tried to give me one. I refused. I didn’t like the look in his eye.”
“Come on, Thea. Since when have you turned down jewels? As for that look, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. Every man looks at you that way,” Paithan said.
“Then they get to know her,” Roland muttered.
Either Aleatha didn’t hear him or she chose to ignore him. “The old man only offered me an emerald. I’ve been offered better than that a hundred times over.”
“And taken them up on their offers a hundred times over, I’ll wager,” Roland said, more loudly this time.
“Come on, you two, stop it,” Paithan intervened. “What about you, Roland? Did Lord Xar give you one of these jewels?”
“Me?” Roland sounded amazed. “Look, Paithan, I don’t know about you elves, but among us humans, guys don’t give necklaces to other guys. As to guys who accept jewelry from other guys, well...”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing, Paithan,” Rega intervened. “Roland’s not saying anything. He took the necklace; don’t let him fool you. I saw him asking Drugar about the jewel, trying to get it appraised.”
“What about it, Drugar? How much are they worth?”
“The gem is not of dwarf-make. I cannot tell. But I wouldn’t wear one. I get a bad feeling from them.” The dwarf’s voice was low and gruff.
“Sure you do,” Roland scoffed. “Such a bad feeling you’d gladly take every one of them for yourself. Look, Drugar, old buddy, never try to swindle a swindler. I know all the tricks. It has to be dwarf-made. Your people are the only ones who dig deep enough below the leaf-level to find jewels like this. Come on. Tell me what it’s worth.”
“What does it matter what it’s worth?” Rega flared. “You’ll never get a chance to cash in on it. We’re trapped in here for the rest of our lives and you know it.”
The mensch all fell silent. Xar yawned. He was growing bored, and this mindless chatter was starting to irritate him. He was beginning to regret giving them the magical gems, which brought every word of what they said to him. Then suddenly he heard what he’d been wanting to hear all along.
“I guess that brings up the real reason for our meeting,” Paithan said quietly. “Do we tell him about the ship? Or keep it to ourselves?” A ship! Sang-drax had been right. The mensch did have a ship hidden around here. Xar shut the Sartan book he’d been attempting to read, concentrated on listening.
“What difference does it make?” Aleatha asked languidly. “If a ship really does exist—which I doubt—we can’t reach it. We have only Cook’s word on it, and who knows what she and her brats thought they saw out there? The tytans have probably smashed it to toothpicks anyway.”
“No,” Paithan said after another moment’s silence. “No, they haven’t. And it does exist.”
“How do you know?” Roland demanded, suspicious.
“Because I’ve seen it. You can—from the top of the citadel. From the Star Chamber.”
“You mean all this time you knew that the others were telling the truth about what they saw? That a ship was out there and still in good shape and you didn’t tell us?”
“Don’t shout at me! Yes, damn it, I knew! And I didn’t tell you for the simple reason that you would have acted stupid the way you’re acting now and rushed out like the others and gotten your fool head bashed in—”
“Well, and so what if I did? It’s my head! Just because you’re sleeping with my sister doesn’t make you my big brother.”
“You could use a big brother.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Stop it, both of you, please—”
“Rega, get out of my way. It’s time he learned...”
“You’re all behaving like children.”
“Aleatha! Where are you going? You shouldn’t go into that maze. It’s...”
“I’ll go where I please, Rega. Just because you’re sleeping with my brother—” Imbeciles! Xar clenched his fists. For an instant he considered transporting himself down to them, shaking the truth out of them. Or perhaps choking it out of them. He grew calmer, however, and soon forgot about them. But not about what they’d said.
“You can see the ship from the top of the citadel,” he muttered. “I’ll go up there and look for myself. The elf might well be lying. And they’re not likely to come back soon.”
Xar had been meaning to take a look inside what the mensch referred to as the Star Chamber, but the elf—Paithan—had the annoying habit of hovering around the room, treating it as if it were his own personal and private creation. He’d very proudly offered to give Xar a tour. Xar had been careful not to evince too much interest, much to Paithan’s disappointment. The Lord of the Nexus would examine the Star Chamber in his own good time—by himself. Whatever Sartan magic happened in the Star Chamber was the key to controlling the tytans. That much was evident.
“It’s the humming sound,” Paithan had said. “I think that’s what’s drawing them.”
Obvious enough that even a mensch had seen it. The humming sound undoubtedly did have a startling effect on the tytans. From what Xar had observed, the humming sent them into some sort of trance. And when it stopped, they flew into a frenzy, like a fretful child who will only be quiet when it hears its mother’s voice.
“An interesting analogy,” Xar remarked, transporting himself to the Star Chamber with a spoken word of magic. He disliked climbing the stairs. “A mother’s soothing voice. A lullaby. The Sartan used this to control them, and while they were under this influence, they were slaves to the Sartan’s will. If I could just learn the secret...”
Reaching the door that led into the Star Chamber, Xar peered cautiously inside. The machine was shut down. The blinding light was off. The machine had been running erratically ever since the lord’s arrival. The elf thought it was supposed to work this way, but Xar guessed not. The Lord of the Nexus knew little about machinery; he truly missed the child Bane at this moment. The boy had figured out how to work the Kicksey-winsey; he could undoubtedly have solved the mystery of this far simpler machine.
Xar was confident that he himself would solve it in time. The Sartan, as was their custom, had left behind innumerable volumes, some of which must contain something other than their constant whining—complaints about how tough things were, how awful their lives had become. He grew irritated every time he tried to read one.
What with wading through books of useless twaddle, listening to the mensch bicker and quarrel, and keeping an eye on the tytans, who had once again massed outside the citadel’s walls, Xar had found very little information to help him.
Until now. Now he was beginning to get somewhere.
He entered the Star Chamber, stalked over to the window, and stared outside. It took him several moments of intense searching to find the ship, partly hidden in the thick jungle foliage. When he located it, he wondered how he could have missed it. His eye was instantly drawn to it—the only ordered thing in a world of wild disorder.