Palafox, however, shook his head.
Paniche motioned to one of his subordinates, who advanced reluctantly. "Allow me to display one of our new developments." The counselor handed him a case, from which Paniche withdrew a pair of small transparent hemispheres.
The neutraloid bodyguards, at the sight of the case, had leapt in front of Aiello with their refrax shields; Sigil Paniche grimaced painfully. "No need for alarm--there is no danger here."
He displayed the hemispheres to Aiello, then placed them over his eyes. "Our new optidynes! They function either as microscope or telescope! The enormous range of their power is controlled by the ocular muscles and the eyelids. Truly marvelous! For instance"--he turned, looked out the window of the pavilion--I see quartz crystals in the stones of the sea-wall. A gray chit stands under that far funella bush." He turned his gaze to his sleeve. "I see the threads, the fibers of the threads, the laminae of the fibers."
He looked at Bustamonte. "I note the pores of the Ayudor's estimable nose. I observe several hairs in his nostril." He glanced at the Medallion, carefully avoiding the solecism of staring at Aiello. "The brave lad is excited. I count his pulse; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, eleven, twelve, thirteen...He holds a tiny object between his fingers, no larger than a pill." He turned, inspected the man in gray. "I see..." he stared; then with a sudden gesture, removed the optidynes from his eyes.
"What did you see?" Bustamonte inquired.
Sigil Paniche studied the tall man in perturbation and awe. "I saw his sign. The tattoo of a Breakness wizard!"
The words seemed to arouse Bustamonte. He glared in accusation at Aiello, gave Palafox a look of loathing, then glowered down at the carved ivory of the table.
You are correct," said Aiello. "This is Lord Palafox, Dominie of Breakness Institute."
Sigil Paniche bowed his head frigidly. "Will Your Supremacy allow me a question?"
"Ask what you will."
"What does Lord Palafox do here on Pao?"
Aiello said blandly, "He came at my behest. I need expert advice. Certain of my confidants"--he glanced rather contemptuously toward Bustamonte--"feel that we can buy Mercantil cooperation. He believes that for a price you will betray the Brumbos of Batmarsh in the same way you have already betrayed us."
Sigil Paniche said in a brittle voice, "We deal in all types of merchandise. We can be engaged for special research."
Aiello twisted his pink mouth into a sneer of repugnance: "I would rather deal with Lord Palafox."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I would not have your syndics think that their treachery goes unnoticed."
Sigil Paniche made a great effort. "I urge you to reconsider. In no way have we cheated you. We delivered exactly what was ordered. Mercantil has served you well in the past--we hope to serve you in the future. If you deal with Breakness, think what the bargain entails!"
"I have made no bargains with Lord Palafox," said Aiello, with a swift glance toward the man in brown and gray.
"Ah, but you will--and, if I may speak openly..." He waited.
"Speak," said Aiello.
"...to your eventual dismay." He became emboldened. "Never forget, Supremacy, that they build no weapons on Breakness. They make no application of their science." He looked to Palafox. "Is this not true?"
"Not altogether," replied Palafox. "A Dominie of the Institute is never without his weapons."
"And Breakness manufactures weapons for export?" Paniche persisted.
"No," answered Palafox with a slight smile. "It is well known that we manufacture only knowledge and men."
Sigil Paniche turned to Aiello. "Only weapons can guard you against the fury of the Brumbos. Why not examine, at least, some of our new products?"
"This can do no harm," Bustamonte urged. "And perhaps we will not require Palafox after all."
Aiello turned him a peevish glance, but Sigil Paniche already was displaying a globe-shaped projector with a hand grip. "This is one of our most ingenious developments."
The Medallion Beran, watching in absorption, felt a sudden quiver, a pang of indescribable alarm. Why? How? What? He must leave the pavilion, he must go! But he could not move from his seat.
Paniche was directing his tool toward the pink marble dome. "Observe, if you will." The top half of the room went black, as if concealed by a black shutter, as if snatched from existence. "The device seeks out, attracts and absorbs energy of the visual phase," explained the Mercantil. "It is invaluable for the confusion of an adversary."
Beran turned his head, looked helplessly toward Bustamonte.
"Now notice!" cried Sigil Paniche. "I turn this knob here..." He turned the knob; the room was blotted out entirely.
Bustamonte's cough was the only sound to be heard.
Then there was a hiss of surprise, a rustle of movement, a choking sound. Light returned to the pavilion. A great horrified gasp sounded; all eyes went to the Panarch. He lay back into his pink silk divan. His leg jerked up, kicked, set dishes and flagons on the table rattling.
"Help, doctor!" cried Bustamonte. "To the Panarch!"
Aiello's fists beat a spasmodic tattoo on the tabletop; his eyes went dim, his head fell forward in the complete lassitude of death.
CHAPTER III
THE DOCTORS gingerly examined Aiello, a gross hulk with arms and legs sprawled in four directions. Beran, the new Panarch, Deified Breath of the Paonese, Tyrant-Absolute of Eight Continents, Ocean-Master, Suzerain of the System and Acknowledged Leader of the Universe (among his other honorary titles), sat fidgeting, evidencing neither comprehension nor grief. The Mercantil stood in a taut group, muttering to each other; Palafox, who had not moved from his seat at the table, watched without interest.
Bustamonte, now Ayudor-Senior, lost no time in asserting the authority which, as regent for the new Panarch, he might be expected to employ. He waved his hand; a squad of Mamarone leapt to stations surrounding the pavilion.
"None will leave," declared Bustamonte, "until these tragic circumstances are clarified." He turned to the doctors. "Have you determined the cause of death?"
The first of the three doctors bowed. "The Panarch succumbed to poison. It was administered by a sting-missile, thrust into the left side of his throat. The poison..." He consulted the dials, the shadow-graphs and color-wheels of an analyzer into which his colleagues had inserted samples of Aiello's body-fluids. "The poison appears to be a mepothanax derivative, extin most probably."
"In that case," said Bustamonte, and his gaze swung from the huddle of Mercantil traders to the grave Lord Palafox, "the crime was committed by someone in this room."
Sigil Paniche diffidently approached the corpse. "Allow me to examine this sting."
The chief doctor indicated a metal plate. Here rested the black sting with its small white bulb.
Sigil Paniche's face was strained. "This object is that which I glimpsed in the hand of the Medallion, no more than a few moments ago."
Bustamonte succumbed to rage. His jowls went pink, his eyes swam with fire. "This accusation from you--a Mercantil swindled You accuse the lad of killing his father?"
Beran began to whimper; his head wobbled from side to side. "Quiet," hissed Bustamonte. "The nature of the deed is clear!"
"No, no," protested Sigil Paniche, and all the Mercantil stood blanched and helpless.
"There is no room for doubt," Bustamonte stated inexorably. "You came to Pergolai aware that your duplicity had been discovered. You were resolved to evade the penalties."