“Are you carrying any relaxers?”
“You know they won’t do you any good.”
Burris held out his hand anyway. Aoudad shrugged and put a relaxer into it. Burris touched the tube to his skin. The illusion of tranquillity might be worth nearly as much as the genuine article now. He thanked Aoudad and walked sharply toward his room, alone.
On the way he passed a woman whose hair was spun pink glass and whose eyes were amethysts. Her costume was chastely immodest. Her voice, feathersoft, brushed his earless cheeks. He rushed past her, trembling, and entered his room.
TWENTY-SEVEN: THE GRAIL’S TRUE WARDEN
“It spoiled a lovely romance,” said Tom Nikolaides.
Lona did not smile. “Nothing lovely about it. I was glad to get away.”
“Because he tried to choke you?”
“That was only at the very end. It was bad a long time before that. You don’t have to get hurt that way in order to get hurt.”
Nikolaides peered deep into her eyes. He understood, or pretended he did. “True enough. It’s too bad, but we all knew it couldn’t last.”
“Including Chalk?”
“Especially Chalk. He predicted the breakup. It’s remarkable how much mail we’ve had on it. The whole universe seems to think it’s a terrible thing that you two split.”
Lona flashed a quick, empty smile. Standing, she paced the long room in choppy strides. The plaques mounted to her heels clicked against the polished floor. “Will Chalk be here soon?” she asked.
“Soon. He’s a very busy man. But the moment he reaches the building, we’ll take you to him.”
“Nick, will he really give me my babies?”
“Let’s hope so.”
She caught up with him. Fiercely her hand caught his wrist. “Hope so? Hope so? He promised them to me!”
“But you walked out on Burris.”
“You said yourself Chalk was expecting it. The romance wasn’t supposed to last forever. Now it’s over, and I kept my part of the bargain, and Chalk’s got to keep his.”
She felt muscles quivering in her thighs. These fancy shoes; hard to stand this way. But they made her look taller, older. It was important to look outwardly the way she had come to be inwardly. That trip with Burris had aged her five years in as many weeks. The constant tension … the bickering…
Above all, the terrible exhaustion after each quarrel…
She would look the fat man straight in the eye. If he tried to worm out of his promise, she’d make life difficult for him. No matter how powerful he was, he couldn’t cheat her! She’d been nursemaid to that weird refugee from an alien planet long enough to have earned the right to her own babies. She—
That wasn’t right, she admonished herself suddenly. I mustn’t make fun of him. He didn’t ask for his troubles. And I volunteered to share them.
Nikolaides stepped into the abrupt silence. “Now that you’re back on Earth, Lona, what are your plans?”
“To arrange for the children, first. Then I want to disappear from public life for good. I’ve had two rounds of publicity now, one when the babies were taken from me, one when I went off with Minner. That’s enough.”
“Where will you go? Will you leave Earth?”
“I doubt it. I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll write a book.” She smiled. “No, that wouldn’t be so good, would it? More publicity. I’ll live quietly. How about Patagonia?” She peered forward. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”
“Chalk?”
“Minner,” she said.
“Still on Titan, so far as I know. Aoudad’s with him.”
“They’ve been there three weeks, then. I suppose they’re having a good time.” Her lips curved fiercely.
“I know Aoudad must be,” Nikolaides said. “Give him plenty of available women, and he’d have a good time anywhere. But I couldn’t vouch for Burris. All I know is that they haven’t made any move to come home yet. Still interested in him, are you?”
“No!”
Nikolaides put his hands to his ears. “All right. All right. I believe you. It’s just that—”
The door at the far end of the room rippled inward. A small, ugly man with long, thin lips stepped through. Lona recognized him: he was d’Amore, one of Chalk’s men. She said at once, “Has Chalk showed up yet? I’ve got to talk to him!”
D’Amore’s unpleasant mouth produced the broadest-smile she had ever seen. “You’re really asserting yourself these days, milady! No more wispy shyness, eh? But no; Chalk’s not here yet. I’m waiting for him myself.” He came farther into the room, and Lona noticed that someone stood behind him: white-faced, mild-eyed, totally at his ease, a man of middle years who smiled in a foolish way. D’Amore said, “Lona, this is David Melangio. He knows a few tricks. Give him the date you were born and the year; he’ll tell you what day of the week it was.”
Lona gave it.
“Wednesday,” said Melangio instantly.
“How does he do that?”
“It’s his gift. Call off a string of numbers for him, as fast as you can, but clearly.”
Lona called off a dozen numbers. Melangio repeated them.
“Right?” d’Amore asked, beaming.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I forgot them myself.” She walked over to the idiot-savant, who regarded her without interest. Looking into his eyes, Lona realized that Melangio was another freak, all trick, no soul. She wondered, chilled, if they were hatching a new love affair for her.
Nikolaides said, “Why’d you bring him back? I thought Chalk had let his option go.”
“Chalk thought Miss Kelvin would like to talk to him,” d’Amore replied. “He asked me to bring Melangio over.”
“What am I supposed to say to him?” Lona asked.
D’Amore smiled. “How would I know?”
She drew the long-lipped man aside and whispered, “He’s not right in the head, is he?”
“I’d say he’s missing something there, yes.”
“So Chalk’s got another project for me? Am I supposed to hold his hand now?”
It was like asking the wall. D’Amore merely said, “Take him inside, sit down, talk. Chalk probably won’t be here for another hour yet.”
There was an adjoining room, with a floating glass table and several lounge chairs. She and Melangio went in, and the door closed with the finality of a cell door.
Silence. Stares.
He said, “Ask me anything about dates. Anything.”
He rocked rhythmically back and forth. His smile did not fade at any moment. He was about seven years old mentally, Lona thought.
“Ask me when George Washington died. Ask me. Or anybody else. Anybody important.”
“Abraham Lincoln,” she sighed.
“April 15, 1865. Do you know how old he’d be if he were still alive today?” He told her, instantly, down to the day. It sounded right to her. He looked pleased with himself.
“How do you do it?”
“I don’t know. I just can. I always have been able to. I can remember the weather and all the dates.” He giggled. “Do you envy me?”
“Not very much.”
“Some people do. They wish they could learn how. Mr. Chalk would like to know how. He wants you to marry me, you know.”
Lona winced. Trying not to be cruel, she said, “Did he tell you that?”
“Oh, no. Not with words. But I know. He wants us to be together. Like you used to be, when you were with the man with the funny face. Chalk enjoyed that. Especially when you had arguments with him. I was with Mr. Chalk once, and he got red in the face and chased me out of the room, and later he called me back. It must have been when you and the other one were having a fight.”