There was a noise from the other room, the sound of the prisoner waking. Tak listened a moment, then, knowing what must be done, he went through to begin the interrogation.
IT WAS EVENING. The lamplight had faded and darkness lay like a lid of stone above the silent town. Thorn stood on the steps of the hall, staring out into the blackness, thinking. "What is it, trader?"
Tak stood close to him on the steps. Once again he had come upon him silently, unnoticed. Thorn turned. Though Tak was only an arm's length from him he could make out only the vague outline of his form. His face was totally obscured, "Just wondering."
Tak came closer until he stood almost face to face with Thorn in the darkness. Thorn could feel his breath upon his cheeks. Clean, unadulterated breath. Thorn laughed softly.
"What are you, Tak? And what are you doing here?"
Tak was silent. Thorn could sense him, only a breath away, watching his face, trying to penetrate the layers of darkness that hid what he was from normal sight. At length the smaller man laughed. Thorn felt Tak's hand on his upper arm.
"Just a man, trader. Like you." The hand dropped away. "Come. Let's go inside. We have work to do, you and I."
Inside the benches were set up for a feast, a dozen of the Myghtern's men—minor chieftains and retainers—to each table. Their raucous chatter filled the old hall. Overhead the huge oak beams of the rafters were strung with electric bulbs. On the walls hung ancient shields bearing the arms of the families of the old county.
Thorn walked down the aisle, between the heavily laden tables, no longer surprised by the richness, the variety of food on display. At the top table he stopped and bowed low before the Myghtern. The hall had gone quiet. All eyes were on Thorn.
"Welcome, trader. Come up here, beside me."
He went up and sat to the right of the Myghtern. Below him in the hall the talk had resumed, heads had turned back. Thorn looked down the length of the hall and saw Tak standing by the door, staring out into the dark.
The Myghtern turned to him, his face set, determined. "They will be here soon, trader, so let me make this clear. I want to know them. Everything about them. Understand?"
Thorn nodded. The nearest table on the right was empty, he noted. "These five . . . you know none of them?"
The Myghtern smiled. "Two of them. The others . . ." He drained his cup and set it down. "They want things from me. Certain agreements. They will no doubt try to placate me. What they want"—he laughed, then his face grew serious again—"it is important to them. Very important."
Thorn watched him as he turned away and poured himself more wine. How important? he wondered. More important than what the Myghtern wanted?
At the far end of the hall Tak moved back suddenly, addressing someone in the darkness outside. Beside Thorn the Myghtern stiffened and leaned forward. The hall had grown quiet once again. All eyes had turned to stare at the five silver-suited figures that had come into the hall.
"The first man," the Myghtern said quietly, "the hawklike one with the dark hair. Who is he?"
Thorn was quiet a moment.
"Well? Do you know him?"
"I know him."
He knew all five.
"His name is Edward Tynan. In the Above he's a powerful man. Like the man beside him, Franke. They were both Representatives in the great House that once governed the Above. Nowadays Tynan runs his own trading Company."
The Myghtern laughed. "Like you, then, trader."
Thorn smiled tightly. It was all a matter of scale. Apart from Li Yuan there were only a few dozen men on the planet richer than Edward Tynan. His company transported more than thirty percent of all the goods that were manufactured in the orbital factories back to the North European Enclave. He was considered one of the pillars of the new establishment. What, then, was he doing here? What could a man like Tynan hope to get down here that he couldn't get Above?
Thorn studied the others. Rutger Franke was Vice-President of SimFic, the up-and-coming entertainments company. He wasn't in the same league as Tynan. Not yet, anyway, for financial sources predicted that SimFic was the Company to watch, and Franke held a substantial block of shares. William Nolen, next to him, had no Company behind him, but that hadn't held him back. He had used a massive inheritance to carve out a successful career in public relations. There was no one who was anyone in the Above who wasn't in his circle. That he was here—linked to the presence of Tynan—suggested that whatever was going on was wide scale and involved some of the most powerful people in the Enclave.
He watched as Tak turned and began to lead the five down the aisle toward the Myghtern. They came like kings, Tynan and Franke leading, Hastings, Nolen, and Deng Liang last.
Deng Liang was an aristocrat. That is, he was a member of one of the Twenty-Nine, the "Minor Families," so called, who had once helped rule the great empire of Chung Kuo. Even now, when their power was but a shadow, they were still "above the Above," not subject to the same laws and strictures as the common citizens of the Enclave. For Deng Liang, fifth son of Deng Shang, to be here was not merely surprising but astonishing. It would be difficult to convey to the Myghtern what it suggested. And as for Hastings . . .
Thorn had received the update on Hastings only days before setting off for the Scillys. The death of the great physicist had come as a sad surprise to many, for he had been an articulate spokesman for his kind: a fearless advocate of change and a vociferous opponent of many of Li Yuan's new laws. His presence here—alive—made some kind of sense of this strange gathering. Or the beginnings of sense . . .
They stopped half a dozen paces from the Myghtern, Tak moving aside with a bow, leaving them to face the Myghtern alone. Thorn spoke hurriedly to the Myghtern, whispering to his ear, telling him who each was and what his status was in the Above, leaving out any mention of Hastings's reported death.
"Wolcum, Tynan. Wolcum oil," the Myghtern said, smiling broadly, his whole manner genial and welcoming.
"I see you have a new man," Tynan said, pointing at Thorn. "A new tongue, eh?"
The Myghtern looked to Thorn, who quickly translated what had been said. It was clear that Tynan had been a test which he had passed. So now he was the Myghtern's man. Like Tak. The Myghtern's ear, his tongue. Behind the expressionless mask of his face Thorn smiled. It was better, far better, than he could have hoped for.
THE SCREAMING had stopped now. In the darkness of the cell Ben let a long breath escape him, then touched the tip of his tongue against the inside of his upper lip. It felt tender and swollen and one of his teeth was loose, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.
And when my turn comes, he wondered, will 1 cry out the way they have? Will I, too, jibber like a madman and plead for mercy?
He didn't know. In fact, the very thought of it made his stomach clench with fear. But above that fear—riding it, almost—was his curiosity.
Meg's right, he thought, and almost smiled, picturing her face before him in the darkness. There's part of me that's mad. Mad as the proverbial hatter.
Beside him, Scaf shifted in the darkness and made a small noise of discomfort. Ben looked to him, making out the vague outline of the Clayman. Scaf had borne this well, considering. Kygek, Crefter, and Blonegek had been taken already. His turn was next.
Unless they take me. But that's not their scheme. They'll find out what all these "lesser" creatures know before they question me.
He shifted uncomfortably, the chains chafing his wrists, then stretched his neck. How many hours had passed? Two? Three? And the signal? Was that still going out?