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similar key from another part of the board. Strench might realize at some time during the
day that a key was missing, but he'd be looking for the wrong one.
Dalt ran into the majordomo moments later.
"His Lordship wishes to see you, Racso," he said stiffly.
"Where is he?"
"On the North Wall."
("This could be a critical moment.")
"Why do you say that, Pard?" Dalt muttered.
("Remember last night, after you pulled your dramatic collapsing act? The Duke said
something about finding out about you today.")
"And you think this could be it?"
("Could be. I'm not sure, of course, but I'm glad you have that dagger in your belt.")
The Duke was alone on the wall and greeted Dalt/ Racso as warmly as his aloof
manner would permit after the latter apologized for "drinking too much" the night
before.
"I'm afraid I have a small confession to make," the Duke said.
"Yes, Your Lordship?"
"I suspected you of treachery when you first arrived." He held up a gloved hand as
Dalt opened his mouth to reply. "Don't protest your innocence. I've just heard from a spy
in the Tependian court and he says you have not set foot in Tependia since your
mysterious disappearance years ago."
Dalt hung his head. "I am grieved, M'Lord."
"Can you blame me, Racso? Everyone knows that you hire out to the highest bidder,
and Tependia has taken an inordinate interest in what goes on in Bendelema lately, even
to the extent of sending raiding parties into our territory to carry off some of my
vassals."
"Why would they want to do that?"
The Duke puffed up with pride. "Because Bendelema has become a land of plenty. As
you know, the last harvest was plentiful everywhere; and, as usual, the present crop is
stunted everywhere ... except in Bendelema." Dalt didn't know that but he nodded
anyway. So only Bendelema was having a second bumper crop that was interesting.
"I suppose you have learned some new farming methods and Tependia wants to steal
them," Dalt suggested.
"That and more." The Duke nodded. "We also have new storage methods and new
planting methods. When the next famine comes, we shall overcome Tependia not with
swords and firebrands, but with food! The starving Tependians will leave their lord and
Bendelema will extend its boundaries!"
Dalt was tempted to say that if the Tependians were snatching up vassals and stealing
Bendelema's secrets, there just might not be another famine. But the Duke was dreaming
of empire and it is not always wise for a mere mercenary to interrupt a duke's dreams of
empire. Dalt remained silent as the Duke stared at the horizon he soon hoped to own.
The rest of the day was spent in idle search of rumors and by the dinner hour Dalt
was sure of one thing: The ship had crashed or landed in the clearing he had inspected a
few days before. More than that was known, but the Bendeleman locals were keeping it
to themselves yes, I saw the light come down; no, I saw nothing else.
Anthon again offered him a seat at the head table and Dalt accepted. When the Duke
was toasted, Dalt took only a tiny sip.
What's the verdict, Pard?
("Same as last night.")
I wonder what this is all about. They don't drug me at lunch or breakfast why only at dinner?
("Tonight we'll try to find out.")
Since there was no outburst from Anthon this time, Dalt was hard put to find a way to
get rid of his drugged wine. He finally decided to feign a collapse again and spill his
cup in the process, hoping to hide the fact that he had taken only a few drops.
After slumping forward on the table, he listened intently.
"How long is this to go on, Father? How can we drug him every night without
arousing his suspicions?" It was Anthon's voice.
"As long as you insist on quartering him here instead of with the other men-at-arms!"
the Duke replied angrily. "We cannot have him wandering about during the nightly
services. He's an outsider and must not learn of the godling!"
Anthon's voice was sulky. "Very well ... I'll have him move out to the barracks
tomorrow."
"I'm sorry, Anthon," the Duke said in a milder tone. "I know he's a friend of yours, but
the godling must come before a mercenary."
("I have a pretty good idea of the nature of this godling,") Pard said as Dalt/Racso
was carried upstairs.
The brain? I was thinking that, too. But how would the brain communicate with these people?
The prototype wasn't set up for it.
("Why do you drag in communication? Isn't it enough that it came from heaven?")
No. The brain doesn't look godlike in the least. It would have to communicate with the locals
before they'd deify it. Otherwise, the crash of the ship would be just another fireside tale for the
children.
In a rerun of the previous night's events, Dalt was dumped on his bed and the door
was locked from the outside. He waited a few long minutes until everything was silent
beyond the door, then he poked the duplicate key into the lock. The original was
pushed out on the other side and landed on the stone floor with a nightmarishly loud
clang. But no other sounds followed, so Dalt twisted his own key and slinked down the
hall to the stairway that overlooked the dining area.
Empty. The plates hadn't even been cleared away.
"Now where'd everybody go?" Dak muttered.
("Quiet! Hear those voices?")
Dalt moved down the stairs, listening. A muted chanting seemed to fill the chamber.
A narrow door stood open to his left and the chanting grew louder as he approached it.
This is it ... they must have gone through here.
The passage within, hewn from earth and rock, led downward and Dalt followed it.
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