"This is nonsense!" cried the Mercantil. "How could we plan so idiotic an act?"
Bustamonte ignored the protest. In a voice of thunder he continued. "The Panarch would not be mollified. You hid yourself in darkness, you killed the great leader of the Paonese!"
"No, no!"
"But you will derive no benefit from the crime! I, Bustamonte, am even less placable than Aiello! As my first act I pronounce judgment upon you."
Bustamonte held up his arm, palm outward, fingers clenched over thumb--the traditional death-signal of the Paonese. He called to the commander of the Mamarone. "Subaqueate these creatures!" He glanced into the sky; the sun was low. "Make haste, before sundown!"
Hurriedly, for a Paonese superstition forbade killing during the hours of darkness, the Mamarone carried the traders to a cliff overlooking an arm of the sea. Their feet were thrust into ballasted tubes, they were flung out through the air. They struck the water, sank, and the surface was calm as before.
Twenty minutes later, by order of Bustamonte, the body of Aiello was brought forth. Without ceremony it was weighted and cast after the Mercantil. Once again the sea showed a quick white blossom of foam; once again it rolled quiet and blue.
The sun hovered at the rim of the sea. Bustamonte, Ayudor-Senior of Pao, walked with nervously energetic steps along the terrace.
Lord Palafox sat nearby. At each end of the terrace stood a Mamarone,--fire-sting aimed steadily at Palafox, to thwart any possible act of violence.
Bustamonte stopped short in front of Palafox. "My decision was wise--I have no doubt of it!"
"What decision is this?"
"In connection with the Mercantil."
Palafox considered. "You may now find trade relations difficult."
"Pah! What do they care for the lives of three men so long as there is profit to be obtained?"
"Very little, doubtless."
"These men were cheats and swindlers. They deserved no more than they received."
"In addition," Palafox pointed out, "the crime has been followed by an appropriate penalty, with no lack of equilibrium to disturb the public."
"Justice has been done," said Bustamonte stiffly.
Palafox nodded. "The function of justice, after all, is to dissuade any who might wish to perform a like misdeed. The execution constitutes such a dissuasion."
Bustamonte swung on his heel, paced up and down the terrace. "It is true that I acted partly from consideration of expediency."
Palafox said nothing.
"In all candor," said Bustamonte, "I admit that the evidence points to another hand in the affair, and the major element of the difficulty remains, like the bulk of an iceberg."
"What difficulty is this?"
"How shall I deal with young Beran?"
Palafox stroked his lean chin. "The question must be considered in its proper perspective."
"I fail to understand you."
"We must ask ourselves, did Beran actually kill the Panarch?"
Protruding his lips, bulging his eyes, Bustamonte contrived to become a grotesque hybrid of ape and frog. "Undoubtedly!"
"Why should he do so?"
Bustamonte shrugged. "Aiello had no love for Beran. It is doubtful if the child were actually fathered by Aiello."
"Indeed?" mused Lord Palafox. "And who might be the father?"
Bustamonte shrugged once more. "The Divine Petraia was not altogether fastidious in her indiscretions, but we will never know the truth, since a year ago Aiello ordained her subaqueation. Beran was grief-stricken, and here might be the source of the crime."
"Surely you do not take me for a fool?" Palafox asked, smiling a peculiar fixed smile.
Bustamonte looked at him in startlement. "Eh? What's this?"
"The execution of this deed was precise. The child appeared to be acting under hypnotic compulsion. His hand was guided by another brain."
"You feel so?" Bustamonte frowned. "Who might such 'another' be?"
"Why not the Ayudor-Senior?"
Bustamonte halted in his pacing, then laughed shortly. "This is fantasy indeed! What of yourself?"
"I gain nothing from Aiello's death," said Palafox. "He asked me here to a specific purpose. Now he is dead, and your own policy faces a different direction. There is no further need for me."
Bustamonte held up his hand. "Not so fast. Today is not yesterday. The Mercantil, as you suggest, may prove hard to deal with. Perhaps you will serve me as you might have served Aiello."
Palafox rose to his feet. The sun was settling past the far horizon into the sea; it swam orange and distorted in the thick air. A breeze tinkled among glass bells and drew sad flute-sounds from an aeolian harp; feathery cycads sighed and rustled.
The sun flattened, halved, quartered.
"Watch now!" said Palafox. "Watch for the green flash!"
The last fiery bar of red sank below the horizon; then came a flickering shaft of pure green, changing to blue, and the sunlight was gone.
Bustamonte spoke in a heavy voice, "Beran must die. The fact of patricide is clear."
"You over-react to the situation," observed Palafox mildly, "Your remedies are worse than the ailment."
"I act as I think necessary," snapped Bustamonte.
"I will relieve you of the child," said Palafox. "He may return with me to Breakness."
Bustamonte inspected Palafox with simulated surprise. "What will you do with young Beran? The idea is ridiculous. I am prepared to offer you a draft of females to augment your prestige, but now I give orders in regard to Beran."
Palafox looked away into the dusk, smiling. "You fear that Beran will become a weapon against you. You want no possible challenge."
"It would be banal to deny it."
Palafox stared into the sky. "You need not fear him. He would remember nothing."
"What is your interest in this child?" demanded Bustamonte.
"Consider it a whim."
Bustamonte was curt. "I must disoblige you."
"I make a better friend than enemy," Palafox said softly.
Bustamonte stopped short in his tracks. He nodded suddenly amiable. "Perhaps I will reconsider. After all, the child can hardly cause trouble....Come along, I will take you to Beran; we will observe his reaction to the idea."
Bustamonte marched off, rocking on his short legs. Smiling faintly, Palafox followed.
At the portal, Bustamonte muttered briefly to the captain of the Mamarone. Palafox, coming after, paused beside the tall black neutraloid, let Bustamonte proceed out of earshot. He spoke, tilting his head to look up into the harsh face.
"Suppose I were to make you a true man once more--how would you pay me?"
The eyes glowed, muscles rippled under the black skin. The neutraloid replied in the strange soft voice. "How would I pay you? By smashing you, by crushing your skull. I am more than a man, more than four men--why should I want the return of weakness?"
"Ah," marveled Palafox. "You are not prone to weakness?"
"Yes," sighed the neutraloid, "indeed I have a flaw." He showed his teeth in a ghastly grin. "I take an unnatural joy in killing; I prefer nothing to the strangling of small pale men."
Palafox turned away, entered the pavilion.
The door closed behind him. He looked over his shoulder. The captain stood glaring through the transparent panel. Palafox looked to the other entrances; Mamarone stood at vigilance everywhere.
Bustamonte sat in one of Aiello's black foam chairs. He had flung a black cloak over his shoulders, the Utter Black of a Panarch.
"I marvel at you men of Breakness," said Bustamonte. "Your daring is remarkable! So casually do you put yourselves into desperate danger!"