I need your help, it read, and am so very grateful. Will you meet me tonight? It was unsigned and had been typed in the script of a common voicewriter, used anywhere in the Palace, or out. When Zeb returned to our room, I showed it to him; he glanced at it and remarked in idle tones:
"Let's get some air. I ate too much, I'm about to fall asleep."
Once we hit the open terrace and were free of the hazard of eye and ear he cursed me out in low, dispassionate tones. "You'll never make a conspirator. Half the mess must know that you found something in your napkin. Why in God's name did you gulp your food and rush off? Then to top it off you handed it to me upstairs. For all you know the eye read it and photostated it for evidence. Where in the world were you when they were passing out brains?"
I protested but he cut me off. "Forget it! I know you didn't mean to put both of our necks in a bight-but good intentions are no good when the trial judge-advocate reads the charges. Now get this through your head: the first principle of intrigue is never to be seen doing anything unusual, no matter how harmless it may seem. You wouldn't believe how small a deviation from pattern looks significant to a trained analyst. You should have stayed in the refectory the usual time, hung around and gossiped as usual afterwards, then waited until you were safe to read it. Now where is it?"
"In the pocket of my corselet," I answered humbly. "Don't worry, I'll chew it up and swallow it."
"Not so fast. Wait here." Zeb left and was back in a few minutes. "I have a piece of paper the same size and shape; I'll pass it to you quietly. Swap the two, and then you can eat the real note-but don't be seen making the swap or chewing up the real one."
"All right. But what is the second sheet of paper?"
"Some notes on a system for winning at dice."
"Huh? But that's non-reg, too!"
"Of course, you hammer head. If they catch you with evidence of gambling, they won't suspect you of a much more serious sin. At worst, the skipper will eat you out and fine you a few days pay and a few hours contrition. Get this, John: if you are ever suspected of something, try to make the evidence point to a lesser offense. Never try to prove lily-white innocence. Human nature being what it is, your chances are better."
I guess Zeb was right; my pockets must have been searched and the evidence photographed right after I changed uniforms for parade, for half an hour afterwards I was called into the Executive Officer's office. He asked me to keep my eyes open for indications of gambling among the junior officers. It was a sin, he said, that he hated to have his younger officers fall into. He clapped me on the shoulder as I was leaving. "You're a good boy, John Lyle. A word to the wise, eh?"
Zeb and I had the midwatch at the south Palace portal that night. Half the watch passed with no sign of Judith and I was as nervous as a cat in a strange house, though Zeb tried to keep me calmed down by keeping me strictly to routine. At long last there were soft footfalls in the inner corridor and a shape appeared in the doorway. Zebadiah motioned me to remain on tour and went to check. He returned almost at once and motioned me to join him, while putting a finger to his lips. Trembling, I went in. It was not Judith but some woman strange to me who waited there in the darkness. I started to speak but Zeb put his hand over my mouth.
The woman took my arm and urged me down the corridor. I glanced back and saw Zeb silhouetted in the portal, covering our rear. My guide paused and pushed me into an almost pitch black alcove, then she took from the folds of her robes a small object which I took to be a pocket ferret-scope, from the small dial that glowed faintly on its side. She ran it up and down and around, snapped it off and returned it to her person. "Now you can talk," she said softly. "It's safe." She slipped away.
I felt a gentle touch at my sleeve. "Judith?" I whispered.
"Yes," she answered, so softly that I could hardly hear her.
Then my arms were around her. She gave a little startled cry, then her own arms went around my neck and I could feel her breath against my face. We kissed clumsily but with almost frantic eagerness.
It is no one's business what we talked about then, nor could I give a coherent account if I tried. Call our behavior romantic nonsense, call it delayed puppy love touched off by ignorance and unnatural lives-do puppies hurt less than grown dogs? Call it what you like and laugh at us, but at that moment we were engulfed in that dear madness more precious than rubies and fine gold, more to be desired than sanity. If you have never experienced it and do not know what I am talking about, I am sorry for you.
Presently we quieted down somewhat and talked more reasonably. When she tried to tell me about the night her lot had been drawn she began to cry. I shook her and said, "Stop it, my darling. You don't have to tell me about it. I know."
She gulped and said, "But you don't know. You can't know. I . . . he . . ."
I shook her again. "Stop it. Stop it at once. No more tears. I do know, exactly. And I know what you are in for still-unless we get you out of here. So there is no time for tears or nerves; we have to make plans."
She was dead silent for a long moment, then she said slowly, "You mean for me to . . . desert? I've thought of that. Merciful God, how I've thought about it! But how can I?"
"I don't know-yet. But we will figure out a way. We've got to." We discussed possibilities. Canada was a bare three hundred miles away and she knew the upstate New York country; in fact it was the only area she did know. But the border there was more tightly closed than it was anywhere else, patrol boats and radar walls by water, barbed wire and sentries by land . . . and sentry dogs. I had trained with such dogs; I wouldn't urge my worst enemy to go up against them.
But Mexico was simply impossibly far away. If she headed south she would probably be arrested in twenty-four hours. No one would knowingly give shelter to an unveiled Virgin; under the inexorable rule of associative guilt any such good Samaritan would be as guilty as she of the same personal treason against the Prophet and would die the same death. Going north would be shorter at least, though it meant the same business of traveling by night, hiding by day, stealing food or going hungry. Near Albany lived an aunt of Judith's; she felt sure that her aunt would risk hiding her until some way could be worked out to cross the border. "She'll keep us safe. I know it"
"Us?" I must have sounded stupid. Until she spoke I had had my nose so close to the single problem of how she was to escape that it had not yet occurred to me that she would expect both of us to go.
"Did you mean to send me alone?"
"Why . . . I guess I hadn't thought about it any other way."
"But-look, Judith, the urgent thing, the thing that must be done at once, is to get you out of here. Two people trying to travel and hide are many times more likely to be spotted than one. It just doesn't make sense to-"
"No! I won't go."
I thought about it hurriedly. I still hadn't realized that "A" implies "B" and that I myself in urging her to desert her service was as much a deserter in my heart as she was. I said, "We'll get you out first, that's the important thing. You tell me where your aunt lives-then wait for me."
"Not without you."
"But you must. The Prophet-"
"Better that than to lose you now!"
I did not then understand women-and I still don't. Two minutes before she had been quietly planning to risk death by ordeal rather than submit her body to the Holy One. Now she was almost casually willing to accept it rather than put up with even a temporary separation. I don't understand women; I sometimes think there is no logic in them at all.
I said, "Look, my dear one, we have not yet even figured out how we are to get you out of the Palace. It's likely to be utterly impossible for us both to escape the same instant. You see that don't you?"
She answered stubbornly, "Maybe. But I don't like it. Well, how do I get out? And when?"
I had to admit again that I did not know. I intended to consult Zeb as soon as possible, but I had no other notion.
But Judith had a suggestion. "John, you know the V
irgin who guided you here? No? Sister Magdalene. I know it is safe to tell her and she might be willing to help us. She's very clever."
I started to comment doubtfully but we were interrupted by Sister Magdalene herself. "Quick!" she snapped at me as she slipped in beside us. "Back to the rampart!"
I rushed out and was barely in time to avoid being caught by the warden, making his rounds. He exchanged challenges with Zeb and myself-and then the old fool wanted to chat. He settled himself down on the steps of the portal and started recalling boastfully a picayune fencing victory of the week before. I tried dismally to help Zeb with chit-chat in a fashion normal for a man bored by a night watch.
At last he got to his feet. "I'm past forty and getting a little heavier, maybe. I'll admit frankly it warms me to know that I still have a wrist and eye as fast as you young blades." He straightened his scabbard and added, "I suppose I had better take a turn through the Palace. Can't take too many precautions these days. They do say the Cabal has been active again." He took out his torch light and flashed it down the corridor.
I froze solid. If he inspected that corridor, it was beyond hope that he would miss two women crouching in an alcove.
But Zebadiah spoke up calmly, casually. "Just a moment, Elder Brother. Would you show me that time riposte you used to win that last match? It was too fast for me to follow it."
He took the bait. "Why, glad to, son!" He moved off the steps, came out to where there was room. "Draw your sword. En garde! Cross blades in line of sixte. Disengage and attack me. There! Hold the lunge and I'll demonstrate it slowly. As your point approaches my chest-" (Chest indeed! Captain van Eyck was as pot-bellied as a kangaroo!) "-I catch it with the forte of my blade and force it over yours in riposte seconde. Just like the book, so far. But I do not complete the riposte. Strong as it is, you might parry or counter. Instead, as my point comes down, I beat your blade out of line-" He illustrated and the steel sang. "-and attack you anywhere, from chin to ankle. Come now, try it on me."
Zeb did so and they ran through the phrase; the warden retreated a step. Zeb asked to do it again to get it down pat. They ran through it repeatedly, faster each time, with the warden retreating each time to avoid by a hair Zeb's unbated point. It was strictly against regulations to fence with real swords and without mask and plastron, but the warden really was good . . . a swordsman so precise that he was confident of his own skill not to blind one of Zeb's eyes, not to let Zeb hurt him. In spite of my own galloping jitters I watched it closely; it was a beautiful demonstration of a once-useful military art. Zeb pressed him hard.
They finished up fifty yards away from the portal and that much closer to the guardroom. I could hear the warden puffing from the exercise. "That was fine, Jones," he gasped. "You caught on handsomely." He puffed again and added, "Lucky for me a real bout does not go on as long. I think I'll let you inspect the corridor." He turned away toward the guardroom, adding cheerfully, "God keep you."
"God go with you, sir," Zeb responded properly and brought his hilt to his chin in salute.
As soon as the warden turned the corner Zeb stood by again and I hurried back to the alcove. The women were still there, making themselves small against the back wall. "He's gone," I reassured them. "Nothing to fear for a while."
Judith had told Sister Magdalene of our dilemma and we discussed it in whispers. She advised us strongly not to try to reach any decisions just then. "I'm in charge of Judith's purification; I can stretch it out for another week, perhaps, before she has to draw lots again."
I said, "We've got to act before then!"
Judith seemed over her fears, now that she had laid her troubles in Sister Magdalene's lap. "Don't worry, John," she said softly, "the chances are my lot won't be drawn soon again in any case. We must do what she advises."
Sister Magdalene sniffed contemptuously. "You're wrong about that, Judy. When you are returned to duty, your lot will be drawn, you can be sure ahead of time. Not," she added, "but what you could live through it-the rest of us have. If it seems safer to-" She stopped suddenly and listened. "Sssh! Quiet as death." She slipped silently out of our circle.
A thin pencil of light flashed out and splashed on a figure crouching outside the alcove. I dived and was on him before he could get to his feet. Fast as I had been, Sister Magdalene was just as fast; she landed on his shoulders as he went down. He jerked and was still.
Zebadiah came running in, checked himself at our sides. "John! Maggie!" came his tense whisper. "What is it?"
"We've caught a spy, Zeb," I answered hurriedly. "What'll we do with him?"
Zeb flashed his light. "You've knocked him out?"
"He won't come to," answered Magdalene's calm voice out of the darkness. "I slipped a vibroblade in his ribs."
"Sheol!"
"Zeb, I had to do it. Be glad I didn't use steel and mess up the floor with blood. But what do we do now?"
Zeb cursed her softly, she took it. "Turn him over, John. Let's take a look." I did so and his light flashed again. "Hey, Johnnie-it's Snotty Fassett." He paused and I could almost hear him think. "Well, we'll waste no tears on him. John!"
"Yeah, Zeb?"
"Keep the watch outside. If anyone comes, I am inspecting the corridor. I've got to dump this carcass somewhere."
Judith broke the silence. "There's an incinerator chute on the floor above. I'll help you."
"Stout girl. Get going, John."
I wanted to object that it was no work for a woman, but I shut up and turned away. Zeb took his shoulders, the women a leg apiece and managed well enough. They were back in minutes, though it seemed endless to me. No doubt Snotty's body was reduced to atoms before they were back-we might get away with it. It did not seem like murder to me then, and still does not; we did what we had to do, rushed along by events.
Zeb was curt. "This tears it. Our reliefs will be along in ten minutes; we've got to figure this out in less time than that. Well?"
Our suggestions were all impractical to the point of being ridiculous, but Zeb let us make them-then spoke straight to the point. "Listen to me, it's no longer just a case of trying to help Judith and you out of your predicament. As soon as Snotty is missed, we-all four of us-are in mortal danger of the Question. Right?"
"Right," I agreed unwillingly.
"But nobody has a plan?"
None of us answered. Zeb went on, "Then we've got to have help . . . and there is only one place we can get it. The Cabal."
3
"The Cabal?" I repeated stupidly. Judith gave a horrified gasp.
"Why . . . why, that would mean our immortal souls! They worship Satan!"
Zeb turned to her. "I don't believe so."
She stared at him. "Are you a Cabalist?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"And how," I insisted, "can you ask them for help?"
Magdalene answered. "I am a member-as Zebadiah knows."
Judith shrank away from her, but Magdalene pressed her with words. "Listen to me, Judith. I know how you feel-and once I was as horrified as you are at the idea of anyone opposing the Church. Then I learned-as you are learning-what really lies behind this sham we were brought up to believe in." She put an arm around the younger girl. "We aren't devil worshipers, dear, nor do we fight against God. We fight only against this self-styled Prophet who pretends to be the voice of God. Come with us, help us fight him-and we will help you. Otherwise we can't risk it."
Judith searched her face by the faint light from the portal. "You swear that this is true? The Cabal fights only against the Prophet and not against the Lord Himself?"
"I swear, Judith."
Judith took a deep shuddering breath. "God guide me," she whispered. "I go with the Cabal."
Magdalene kissed her quickly, then faced us men. "Well?"
I answered at once, "I'm in it if Judith is," then whispered to myself, "Dear Lord, forgive me my oath-I must!"
Magdalene was staring at Zeb. He shifted uneasily and said
angrily, "I suggested it, didn't I? But we are all damned fools and the Inquisitor will break our bones."
There was no more chance to talk until the next day. I woke from bad dreams of the Question and worse, and heard Zeb's shaver buzzing merrily in the bath. He came in and pulled the covers off me, all the while running off at the mouth with cheerful nonsense. I hate having bed clothes dragged off me even when feeling well and I can't stand cheerfulness before breakfast; I dragged them back and tried to ignore him, but he grabbed my wrist. "Up you come, old son! God's sunshine is wasting. It's a beautiful day. How about two fast laps around the Palace and in for a cold shower?"
I tried to shake his hand loose and called him something that would lower my mark in piety if the ear picked it up. He still hung on and his forefinger was twitching against my wrist in a nervous fashion; I began to wonder if Zeb were cracking under the strain. Then I realized that he was tapping out code.
"B-E-N-A-T-U-R-A-L," the dots and dashes said, "S-H-O-W-N-O-S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E-W-E-W-I-L-L-B-E-C-A-L-L-E-D-F-O-R-E-X-A-M-I-N-A-T-I-O-N-D-U-R-I-N-G-T-H-E-R-E-C-R-E-A-T-I-O-N- P-E-R-I-O-D-T-H-I-S-A-F-T-E-R-N-O-O-N"
I hope I showed no surprise. I made surly answers to the stream of silly chatter he had kept up all through it, and got up and went about the mournful tasks of putting the body back in shape for another day. After a bit I found excuse to lay a hand on his shoulder and twitched out an answer: "O-K-I-U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D"
The day was a misery of nervous monotony. I made a mistake at dress parade, a thing I haven't done since beast barracks. When the day's duty was finally over I went back to our room and found Zeb there with his feet on the air conditioner, working an acrostic in the New York Times. "Johnnie my lamb," he asked, looking up, "What is a six-letter word meaning 'Pure in Heart'?"
"You'll never need to know," I grunted and sat down to remove my armor.
"Why, John, don't you think I will reach the Heavenly City?"
"Maybe-after ten thousand years penance."
There came a brisk knock at our door, it was shoved open, and Timothy Klyce, senior legate in the mess and brevet captain, stuck his head in. He sniffed and said in nasal Cape Cod accents, "Hello, you chaps want to take a walk?"