"You are gracious."
"Sensible. Why arouse antagonism when there is no need?" Chenault turned and moved down the hall. As Dumarest fell into step beside him he said, "I give a little and receive much in return. If they think I am an amusing eccentric then that is to my advantage. Also, from such people, information can be gained."
As to his own presence on Lychen and what had happened since he had landed. Dumarest glanced at his host and wondered just how much the man knew and what he intended. An academic question; if the information he had gathered was true then he had no choice but to stay close to the man until he had gained the coordinates of Earth. The secret Chenault owned-or did he?
Always there was doubt and there had been too many disappointments and yet, this time, Dumarest felt close to success. A conviction based on instinct but which he knew could be contaminated by hope. And if this was another blind lead it would be best to discover the truth without waste of time.
Dumarest said, bluntly, "Shakira gave me your name and that of this world. He said you would help me."
"Of course. And I shall."
"Then it might help if I told you what I'm looking for and-"
"But later." Chenault halted as they reached the end of the hall. "There is a time and place for all things and welcome guests are too rare to be hurried. You are in need of food and rest and other comforts. Later we shall talk." The clap of his hands created echoes which murmured to silence. As they faded, a man appeared, standing, waiting, in the age-old attitude of one who served. "Baglioni," said Chenault. "He will guide you to your room and attend you. Until later, my friend."
A wave and he was gone leaving Dumarest with his guide. Baglioni was small; a man with the body of a child but with the face of an old man. A midget who bowed and gestured for Dumarest to follow as he stepped to a wall. He froze as Dumarest dropped a hand on his shoulder.
"Can you hear?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And speak too, so I see. Are there many like you in this place?" He smiled as the man remained silent. "Would money persuade you to find your tongue? No? I thought not. Your master is fortunate in having so devoted a servant." Without change of tone Dumarest added, "When did you leave the circus?"
"My lord?"
"What were you? Acrobat? Tumbler? Clown?" Pausing, he added, "Or were you in a sideshow with the rest?"
Baglioni was stiff. "I don't understand what you mean, my lord. Now, if you will follow me, I will guide you to your room."
Chapter Two
Bizarre luxury everywhere, the walls painted in striations of complementary colors, the furnishings adorned with grotesque carvings depicting men and beasts and things of the sea and air. The bed was wide, soft, the woven cover resembling an ancient tapestry. The bathroom adjoining was bright with mirrors and gilded metal work.
Dumarest stripped and stood beneath the shower, washing away the sweat and grime of his journey with blasts of hot and icy water, foaming unguents and cleansing soap. With a sponge he tended to his clothing, removing dirt and stains from the neutral gray plastic. Dried, naked aside from a towel wrapped around his waist, he padded into the bedroom and moved toward the window.
He had seen this window from below, a round eye which gave a view of the valley, set, he guessed, to one side of the great doors and high in the cliff. The pane was immovable to his touch, locked or sealed to the frame; even if broken it would give only to the sheer face of the cliff. If the door to the room should be locked from the outside it would become a prison despite its luxury.
A fact assessed and dismissed; if Chenault intended him harm the danger lay in the man himself and not the furnishings of his house. Leaning forward Dumarest studied the terrain below. The valley was dark now, filled with gloom alleviated only by the starlight which touched trees and shrubs with a silver glow. A wrongness; the windows should be streaming light unless the glass had been treated to blank it from within. That explained their dark and empty appearance from outside and he wondered how many had watched his progress down the valley.
Turning, he made for the switch and killed the interior illumination. The window, now filled with the silver glow of starlight, painted the chamber with a ghostly luminescence.
One broken by a warm fan of brilliance as the door opened and Govinda stepped into the room.
"Earl?" She had not expected the dimness and drew in her breath as she saw him move. "Oh, there you are."
The door closed behind her and she stepped toward him, her hair black in the pigment-robbing light. Her gown was formal, high at the neck, covering her arms, falling to just above her feet.
Around her the air was heavy with the scent of flowers.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She gestured toward the window. "It can be darkened if the light bothers you. See?" At her touch the round eye grew dim and finally dark. "You need only turn the control. One way for total darkness the other for as it was." The room grew palely bright again as she demonstrated. "I came to see if there was anything you needed."
"That was kind."
"Tama likes his guests to be comfortable."
"Is it your job to see they are?"
"I don't want you to miss anything. Look!" She pointed at the window. "See?"
Beyond the pane, in the valley, came a sudden dart of brilliance. It was joined by another, more, and within seconds the area was filled with a host of scintillant streaks of burning colors which moved and died as quickly as they had appeared.
"Firebirds," she explained. "They rest and eat and glow as they fly."
Nocturnal creatures and there could be others yielding equal pleasure. Dumarest turned as the woman pressed close beside him, her face and eyes turned toward the view outside. In the pale light her face looked oddly different from what he remembered, even more unformed than it had when she returned with the water. A nondescript combination of basic features, older, betraying lines which should not have been missing. Then, conscious of his examination, she turned to face him and, at once, was younger, more alive.
"Earl." Her hand rose to touch him, long fingers resting on his naked shoulder, falling to move over the pattern of scars on his torso. A gentle touch which lingered, then, reluctantly, fell away. "Dinner will be soon," she said. "You'll find clothing in the cabinet."
"My own will do."
"Not at the table of Tama Chenault. Dinner here is a festive occasion and he has a high regard for what is proper. Please, Earl." Her hand rose to touch him again. "Is it so hard to accommodate an old man?"
The clothing was black edged with gold, the blouse fitting close to match the smooth fit of the pants. Garb to be expected in the great houses where formality was the rule. Dressed, Dumarest looked at himself in the mirror; a tall, wide-shouldered man, the bulk of his torso diminishing to a flat stomach, a narrow waist.
"It fits, Earl, and it suits you." Standing beside him, framed in the mirror, Govinda stared at him with emerald eyes. In the restored lighting of the room her hair burned with a ruby splendor. She too wore black, the skirt banded with gold, her costume complementary to his own. "You look a warrior. A king."