Taltos

Twelve

MARKLIN HAD NEVER seen the house in such an uproar. This was a test of his talent to dissemble to the max. The council room was crowded with members, but the meeting had not been called to order. No one noticed him as he passed in the corridor. The noise was deafening under the arched wooden ceilings. But this commotion was a blessing. No one seemed to care about one novice and his reactions, or what he did or where he went.

They had not even awakened him to let him know what was happening. He’d stumbled onto all of this when he’d finally opened his door and discovered several members “patrolling” the hallway. He and Tommy had scarcely exchanged words.

But by now Tommy had reached Regent’s Park and disconnected the fax interception. All physical evidence of the false communications was being destroyed.

And where was Stuart? Not in the library, not in the parlors, not in the chapel praying for his beloved Aaron, not in the council room, either.

Stuart could not break under this pressure! And if he was gone, if he was gone to be with Tessa … But no, he would not have fled. Stuart was with them again. Stuart was their leader, and it was three against the world.

The big case clock in the hallway said 11:00 a.m., the face of the bronze moon smiling above the ornate numerals. In the noise, the chimes were nearly inaudible. When would they begin formal deliberations?

Did he dare to go up to Stuart’s room? But wouldn’t that be natural for him? Stuart was his tutor within the Order. Wouldn’t that be the right thing to do? And what if Stuart was in panic again, crumbling, questioning everything? What if Stuart turned on him again, as he had on Wearyall Hill, and he did not have Tommy to help him bring Stuart back?

Something had just happened. He could hear it in the council room. He took a few steps, until he found himself in the north door. Members were taking their seats around the huge oak table. And there was Stuart, Stuart looking straight at him-a sharp-beaked bird with small, round blue eyes, in the usual somber, almost clerical clothes.

Dear God, Stuart stood beside the empty chair of the Superior General. He had his hand on the back of the chair. They were all looking at Stuart. They had appointed Stuart to take over! Of course.

Marklin reached to cover his imprudent but inevitable smile with a curled hand and a muffled cough. Too perfect, he thought, it’s as though the powers that be were on our side. After all, it might have been Elvera, or Joan Cross. It might have been old Whitfield. But it was Stuart! Brilliant! Aaron’s oldest friend.

“Come inside, all of you, be seated, please,” said Stuart. He was extremely nervous, Marklin could see it. “You must forgive me,” said Stuart, forcing a polite smile which was certainly not required and was hardly appropriate. Dear God, he’s not going to be able to pull this off! “I have not quite recovered yet from my shock. But you know I’ve been appointed to take over. We’re waiting at this very moment for communication from the Elders.”

“Surely they’ve answered, Stuart,” said Elvera. Surrounded by cronies, she had been the star all morning, the witness to Anton Marcus’s murder, the one who had conversed with the mysterious man who had entered the building and asked strange questions of those he encountered, and then coldly and methodically strangled Marcus to death.

“There is no answer yet, Elvera,” said Stuart patiently. “Sit down there, all of you over there. It’s time for this meeting to begin.”

At last the room fell silent. The giant table was surrounded by curious faces. Dora Fairchild had been crying, and looked it. So had Manfield Cotter. So had others whom Marklin didn’t even know. All friends of Aaron Lightner, or worshipers, to be more correct.

No one here had really known Marcus. His death had horrified everyone, of course. But grief was not a problem there.

“Stuart, has the Mayfair family answered?” came another question. “Do we have any more information about what happened to Aaron?”

“Patience, all of you. I will post the information as soon as it’s received. What we know now is that something has gone terribly wrong within this house. Intruders have come and gone. Perhaps there have been other breaches of security. We do not know if all these events are connected.”

“Stuart,” said Elvera, raising her voice shrilly. “This man asked me if I knew that Aaron was dead! He walked into my room and started talking about Aaron!”

“Of course it’s connected,” said Joan Cross. Joan had been in a wheelchair for a year now; she looked impossibly frail, even her short white hair was thinning, but her voice was impatient and domineering as it had always been. “Stuart, our first priority is to determine the identity of this killer. We have the authorities telling us the fingerprints are untraceable. But we know that this man might have come from the Mayfair family. They do not.”

“Yes … all connected somehow, doesn’t it seem?” Stuart was actually stammering. “But we have no further indication. That is what I meant.” Suddenly his deep-set eyes fixed upon Marklin, who sat almost at the far end of the table, looking calmly at him.

“Gentlemen, to tell you the truth,” said Stuart, tearing his eyes away and searching the faces around him, “I’m completely inadequate to take Anton’s place. I think … I think I should pass the scepter to Joan, if it’s all right with the entire assembly. I can’t continue!”

Stuart, how could you! Marklin stared at the table, trying to conceal his disappointment just the way he’d tried moments ago to conceal his triumphant smile. You’re in the driver’s seat, he thought bitterly, but you can’t handle it. You’re stepping down when you are needed to block the very communication that will hasten things. You are a fool.

“I have no alternative!” said Stuart loudly, as if he were speaking only to his novice. “Gentlemen, I’m too … I’m too upset over Aaron’s death to be of use.”

Interesting statement, wise statement, thought Marklin. Stuart had always taught them, if you have some secret you must keep from the psychics around you, think something close to the truth.

Stuart had risen. He was giving the chair to Joan Cross. There were cries of “Aye!” and approval coming from all sides. Even Elvera was nodding. Young Crawford, one of Joan’s pupils, was maneuvering her wheelchair into position at the head of the table. Stuart stood back, near the wall. Stuart was going to try to slip out!

Not without me, thought Marklin, but how could he leave now? Stuart wasn’t going to get away from him, he wasn’t going to get a chance to flee to that secret place where he kept Tessa. No, that was not going to happen.

Once again, there was a hubbub. One of the old men was complaining that in this emergency the Elders present should identify themselves. Someone else had told the old man to be silent, not to mention such a thing again.

Stuart was gone! Quickly, Marklin slipped out of the chair and hurried through the north doorway. He could see Stuart leagues ahead of him, it seemed, moving towards the Superior General’s office. Marklin didn’t dare call out. There were two younger members with Stuart-Ansling and Perry, both secretarial assistants. They had been a threat to the operation since the beginning, though neither had had the wits to realize that anything had been wrong.

Suddenly the trio disappeared through the double doors and closed them. Marklin stood alone in the empty hall.

A gavel sounded in the council room, or something very like it. Marklin stared at the doors. On what pretext could he enter? To offer his help, his condolences? Everyone knew he was devoted to Stuart. Good God, what should he do under normal circumstances, if he wasn’t … Don’t think about it, don’t ever clearly dwell upon it, not here, not within these halls.

He glanced at his watch. What were they doing? If Stuart had resigned the position, why was he in that office at all? Perhaps the fax was feeding out a message from the Elders. Tommy had had time to stop the interception. Or perhaps Tommy had written the communication that might be coming in.

At last he couldn’t stand it any longer. He marched forward, rapped on the doors, and opened them without waiting for permission.

The two young men were alone in the office, Perry seated at Marcus’s desk, talking on the telephone, and Ansling hovering above him, obviously trying to follow the call. The fax was silent. The doors to Anton’s bedroom were closed.

“Where is Stuart?” Marklin asked loudly and directly, though both men gestured for him to be silent.

“Where are you now, Yuri?” said Perry into the receiver. Yuri!

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Ansling. “Everyone should be in the council room!”

“Yes, yes …” Perry was saying, clearly humoring the man on the other end of the line.

“Where is Stuart?” demanded Marklin.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You will tell me!” said Marklin.

“That’s Yuri Stefano on the phone,” said Ansling, obviously very ambivalent about what he was revealing, glancing anxiously now from Perry to Marklin. “Stuart’s gone to meet him. He told Stuart that he had to come alone.”

“Where? How did he leave?”

“Well, down the Superior General’s private stairs, I imagine,” said Ansling. “How should I know?”

“Shut up, both of you!” said Perry. “Ah, God, he’s just rung off!” He slammed down the receiver. “Marklin, get out of here.”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone, you idiot,” said Marklin furiously. “Stuart’s my tutor. What private stairs?”

He went right past them, ignoring their indignant and imperious voices, moving through the bedroom and then seeing the perfect cutout of a doorway in the paneling, the unmarked door itself pushed only a few inches ajar. He shoved it back. There was the stairway! Damn!

“Where’s he gone to meet Yuri?” he shouted to Ansling, who had only just entered the room.

“Get away from that passage,” Perry said. “Get out of this bedroom now. You don’t belong in the Superior General’s bedroom.”

“What’s the matter with you, Marklin!” said Ansling. “The last thing we need now is insubordination. Go back to the council room at once.”

“I asked you a question. I want to know where my tutor has gone.”

“He didn’t tell us, and if you’d shut up and stayed out of this, I might have gotten it out of Yuri Stefano myself.”

Marklin stared at the two angry, frightened young men. Idiots, he thought, idiots. I hope they blame you and your sniveling, subservient kind for everything. I hope they expel you. He turned and went down the hidden stairs.

A long, narrow passage wound round the corner before leading to a small door. It opened directly to the park, as he knew it would. He had never even noticed this door! There were so many. A few scattered stepping-stones led off across the lawn in the direction, more or less, of the garage.

He broke into a run, but he knew it was useless. When he reached the cars, the attendant was on his feet.

“They’ve asked everyone to stay in, sir, until the meeting’s over.”

“Stuart Gordon. Did he take a staff car?”

“No, sir, his own, sir. But his orders were that no one else should leave without express permission, sir, that’s what he said.”

“I’m sure!” said Marklin furiously. He went directly to his own Rolls, and slammed the door on the attendant who had followed him. He hit thirty before he reached the gates.

On the highway he quickly accelerated to sixty, then seventy, eighty. But Stuart was long gone. And he could not know whether Stuart had even taken the highway-whether it was to Tessa or to Yuri that Stuart had gone. And since he had no idea whatsoever where Tessa was, or Yuri, he was following nothing and no one!

“Tommy, I need you,” he said aloud. He reached for the car phone and, with his thumb, punched in the number of the secret digs in Regent’s Park.

No answer.

Tommy might have already disconnected everything. Oh, why hadn’t they made a plan to meet in London? Surely Tommy would realize the error. Surely Tommy would wait there.

The loud screech of a horn startled him. He slammed down the phone. He had to pay attention to what he was doing. He floored the accelerator and passed the truck in front of him, pushing the Rolls to its top speed.