"Paradise." Massak speared more meat. "But how real was it? Aside from your memories, I mean."
"It was real."
"Then why leave it?"
"Slavers." Toetzer's hands began to tremble.
"They came and they took me. Others too, no doubt, but I can be sure only of myself. They sold me and I was-changed." The tremble had increased, the fruit falling from his fingers to roll on the table as he slammed his hands to the board. "Defiled," he whispered. "Degraded. Demeaned-God, why did it happen?"
Govinda said, "But why didn't you go back? When you had the chance, I mean."
"I couldn't. It wouldn't have been the same. I'd changed and… and…" Toetzer shook his head. "No. I couldn't go back."
"Of course you couldn't." Lopakhin was emphatic. "Your own good sense wouldn't let you. A man must be a fool to walk with his head turned to look over his shoulder at the past. No one wants to go back to their home world after they've left it. No one!"
He was wrong. Dumarest wanted nothing more.
The meal ended, servants clearing away the dishes, replacing them with others holding comfits, sweetmeats, tasty morsels designed to pique the senses rather than assuage hunger. Tisanes joined the wines, smoking pots containing herbal teas, others redolent of coffee, of chardle, of rich, thick chocolate.
Govinda said, "You can leave if you want, Earl. Or move around. Dance if you choose." Her eyes were inviting as the soft sounds of music stirred the air. "Or just sit and talk. Change places if you like. Would you care to talk to Toyanna?"
"Later, perhaps."
She was a lean and hungry-looking woman with a roach of silver hair and hands resembling claws. She reminded him of a harpy; a creature of carnival who urged clients to chance their luck or test their skills, knowing they had no chance. He wondered what Chenault saw in her and glanced to where he sat. He seemed asleep and had taken little part in the conversation but his eyes were open, bright in the light, slick with a watchful sheen. As Dumarest watched Baglioni came to whisper into his master's ear.
"No!" Chenault shook his head. "I will not be disturbed."
Again the midget spoke, his voice too low to hear.
"Tell them to go. It is not convenient. This is my house and I am its master. No!" His hand lifted to quench Bagliohi's fresh appeal. "I don't care who they are. Send them away."
"Visitors." Massak shrugged as the midget scurried from the hall. "They picked a bad time but since when have the rich ever been considerate?" He turned toward Lopakhin, teeth flashing in a smile. "A pity, Tyner. They would have gawped at your hall and complimented you on your artistic merit and even offered you rich commissions to create for them a similar toy. I often wonder why you always refuse them."
"They could not appreciate my art."
"True, but the money is tempting."
"Money isn't everything. As you said, to them such a creation would be nothing more than an amusing toy. I am not interested in entertaining fools." Lopakhin reached for a sweetmeat, bit into it, spat as an unexpected flavor filled his mouth. "Damn the thing! One day I'll have a word with the chef."
"His creations match life," said Massak. "Both are full of surprises. As an artist yourself you should appreciate his skill. For me such things are too subtle. I prefer simpler fare." He swept a space clear before him and set his elbow on the board, forearm lifted, hand spread and empty. To Dumarest he said, "Come, my friend, let us play a familiar game."
Dumarest shook his head.
"No flames," urged Massak. "No bowls of acid. No spikes or naked blades. Just a friendly test of skill and strength. The one who forces the other's hand to the table wins a promise."
"Such as?" Dumarest smiled as the other shrugged. "No. You would win and I'd be in your debt. In any case to gamble for unknown stakes is to wander blindfolded in a mine field. No man wants a friend to do that."
"True." Massak looked at the artist. "How about you, Tyner? No? Vosper?" He called down the table. "Shior?"
Dumarest rose and left the board to wander around the chamber. Alcoves held objects of delicate construction and obvious worth; vases, bowls, statuettes, jeweled flowers, insects fashioned from glinting metal. A polished plaque held the shadowy impression of a face tormented by endless suffering. One which moved as Dumarest leaned toward it. A mirror? A cunning work of art which took a basic reflection and augmented it with previously delineated lines?
"One of Lopakhin's creations." Toyanna stood beside him, the sheen of her silver hair making a brighter spot on the plaque. "He's crude and coarse and drinks too much but there's magic in him. As I think there is in you, Earl. Give me your hand."
"A reading?"
"You mock?" For a moment anger shone in her eyes then, smiling, she shrugged. "I forgot. A man like you needs always to be cautious but I mean you no harm."
"And can do little good." Dumarest was blunt. "The past I know and the future can take care of itself. I've no wish to listen to mumbled warnings of dire events which might or might not happen. Things never specified but only hinted at. Thank you for the offer, my lady, but this isn't carnival and I'm no gull."
"You think you know my trade?"
"I can guess."
"Because I asked for your hand?" She held out her own. "Take it. Does that make you a reader of palms?"
There was strength in the hand despite its thinness, matching the lithe grace of her body, the near-gaunt appearance of her face. Things Dumarest noted as he saw her eyes, watchful, sharp with calculation. A woman, he guessed, who had never been young but always too adult for her years. A trait which rarely yielded happiness.
His fingers touched her flesh, traced lines, paused as he frowned, moved on as, nodding, he released his breath.
"Your past is filled with shadows, my lady. Times of distress and hardship when, too often, you had to suffer the unthinking folly of others. None appreciated your sensitivity and you were hurt by their indifference. You have known rejection, scorn, contempt, anger. Often you have been misunderstood and the love you hold within you cries for recognition."
She said, dryly, "But it will come together with the man of my dreams. There will be recognition of worth and wealth and a long journey. A good try, Earl, but there could have been more detail. No reading should be too fast. You needed to pause, to ask questions in a casual manner, to incorporate the answers in later remarks. Yet, if you were put to it, you would make out."
Smiling, he released her hand. "Is that your professional opinion?"
"Hardly that." She returned his smile. "Hilary is the expert."
"But you've worked carnival?"
"As a healer, yes." She drew in her breath and met his eyes. "Herbs, unguents, lotions, philtres, tablets, pills; all harmless and most useless but the advice was something else. As was the treatment I gave at times. I had the knack for it. I could look at a client and tell if all was well. Sometimes I could be precise as to what was wrong and even take steps to cure it. Certainly I could warn against it. Do you believe that coming events can cast their shadow before them?"
"Fortune telling?"
"A man has a tumor growing in his brain. The signs are there for those with the skill to see. To state that, shortly, he will go mad and die is not to guess at the future but to know it. To be certain of it. The coming event has cast its shadow. You see?"
Dumarest nodded. "Do you still sell pills?"
"Not exactly but I do prescribe them when necessary." Her eyes held the dancing glints of amusement. "We should have been introduced, Earl. I am Pia Toyanna, Doctor of Medicine, Doctor of Psychology, of Radionic Healing and Psionic Manipulation." She added, casually, "I'm also a surgeon."