Son of the Tree

VIII

They were walking down a corridor lined with small shops. «Look,» said Joe, «are you a Druid Priestess, about as likely to lop the life out of a commoner as not–or are you a nice kid out on a date?»

Elfane tossed her head, tried to look dignified and worldly. «I am a very important person and one day I will be the Suppliant for the entire Shire of Kelminester. A small shire, true, but the guidance of three million souls to the Tree will be in my hands.»

Joe gave her a disgusted look. «Won't they do just as well without you?»

She laughed, relaxed for an instant to become a gay dark-haired girl. «Oh–probably. But I'm forced to keep up appearances.»

«The trouble is that after awhile you'll start believing all that stuff.»

She said nothing for a moment. Then, mischievously, «Why are you looking about so attentively? Is this corridor so interesting then?»

«I'm watching for that devil Manaolo,» said Joe. «It would be just like him to be lurking in one of these shadows and step out and stab me.»

Elfane shook her head. «Manaolo has gone down to Tier Three. He has tried to make me his lover every night of the voyage but I have no desire for him. This morning he threatened that unless I yielded he would debauch himself along the Tier. I told him by all means to do so and then perhaps his virility would not be so ardently directed against me. He left in a huff.»

«Manaolo always seems to be in a state of offended dignity.»

«He is a man with a very exalted rank,» said Elfane. «Now let us go down here. I wish to–»

Joe took her arm, swung her around, gazed into her startled eyes, her nose an inch from his.

«Look here, young lady. I'm not trying to assert my virility but I'm not trotting here and there after you, carrying your bundles like a chauffeur.»

He knew it was the wrong word.

«Chauffeur, ha! Then–»

«If you don't like my company,» said Joe, «now's the time to leave.» After a moment she said, «What's your name beside Smith?»

«Call me Joe.»

«Joe–you're a very remarkable man. Very strange. You puzzle me, Joe.»

«If you want to come with me–a chauffeur, a mechanic, a civil engineer, a moss-planter, a bartender, a tennis instructor, a freight docker, a dozen other things –we're going down to the Nineteen Gardens and see if they sell Earth-style beer.»

The Nineteen Gardens occupied a slice through the middle of the construction–nineteen wedge-shaped sections surrounding a central platform which served as a restaurant.

They found a vacant table and, to Joe's surprise, beer in frosted quart beakers was set before them without comment.

«If it pleases your Divinity,» said Elfane meekly.

Joe grinned sheepishly. «You don't need to carry it that far. It must be a Druid trait, an avalanche one way, another way, all the way. Well, what did you want?»

«Nothing.» She turned in her seat, looked out across the gardens. At this point Joe realized that willy-nilly, for good or bad, he was wildly enamored. Margaret? He sighed. She was far away, a thousand light-years.

He looked across the gardens, nineteen of them, flora of nineteen different planets, each with its distinctive color timbres–black, gray and white of Kelce–oranges, yellows, hot lime green of Zarjus–the soft pastel pink, green, blue and yellow blossoms which grew on the quiet little planets of Jonapah–green in a hundred rich tones, gay red, sky blue–Joe started, half-rose to his feet.

«What's the matter?» asked Elfane.

«That garden there–those are Earth plants or I'm a ring-tailed monkey.» He jumped up, went to the rail and she followed. «Geraniums, honeysuckle, petunias, zinnia, roses, Italian cypress, poplars, weeping willows. And a lawn. And hibiscus...» He looked at the descriptive plaque. «Planet Gea. Location uncertain.»

They returned to the table. «You act as if you're homesick,» said Elfane in an injured voice.

Joe smiled. «I am–very homesick. Tell me something about Ballenkarch.»

She tasted the beer, looked at it in surprise, screwed up her face.

«Nobody likes beer when they first drink it,» said Joe.

«Well–I don't know too much about Ballenkarch. Up to a few years ago it was completely savage. No ships stopped there because the autochthones were cannibals. Then the present prince united all of the smaller continent into a nation. It happened overnight. Many people were killed.

«But now there is no more murder and ships can land in comparative safety. The Prince has decided to industrialize and he's imported much machinery from Beland, Mangtse, and Grabo across the stream. Little by little he's extending his rule over the main continent– winning over the chiefs, hypnotizing them or killing them.

«Now you must understand the Ballenkarts have no religion whatever and we Druids hope to tie their new industrial power to us through the medium of a common faith. Then we will no longer depend on Mangtse for manufactured goods. The Mangs naturally don't care for the idea and so they are...» Her eyes widened. She reached across, grasped his arm. «Manaolo! Oh Joe, I hope he doesn't see us.»

Joe's mantle of caution ripped. Humility is impossible when the object of your love is fearing for your safety.

He sat back in his seat, watched Manaolo come striding onto the terrace like a Demonland hero.. A beige-skinned woman, wearing orange pantaloons, pointed slippers of blue cloth and a blue cloth cap, hung on his arm. In his other arm he carried the parcel he had taken off the ship. In the flicker of his dead eyes he saw Elfane and Joe, changed his course without expression, sauntered across the floor, casually drawing a stiletto from his belt.

«This is it,» muttered Joe. «This is it!» He rose to his feet.

Diners, drinkers, scattered. Manaolo stopped a yard distant, the ghost of a smile on his dark face. He set the parcel on the table, then easily stepped forward, thrust. It was done with an almost naive simplicity as if he expected Joe to stand still to be stabbed. Joe threw the beer into his face, hit his wrist with the beaker and the stiletto tinkled to the ground.

«Now,» said Joe, «I'm going to beat you within an inch of your life.»

Manaolo lay on the ground. Joe, panting, straddled him. The bandage across his nose had broken. Blood flowed down his face, down his chin. Manaolo's hand fell on the stiletto. With a subdued grunt he swung. Joe gripped the arm, guided it past him into Manaolo's shoulder.

Manaolo grunted once more, plucked the blade loose. Joe seized it away, stuck it through Manaolo's ear into the wooden floor, pounded it deep with blows of his fist, jumped to his feet, stood looking down.

Manaolo flopped like a fish, lay still, exhausted. An impassive litter crew came through the crowd, removed the stiletto, loaded him on the litter, bore him away. The beige-skinned woman ran along beside him. Manaolo spoke to her. She turned, ran to the table, took the parcel, ran back to where the attendants were loading Manaolo into a wheeled vehicle, placed the parcel on his chest.

Joe sank back into his chair, took Elfane's beer, drank deeply.

«Joe,» she whispered. «Are you–hurt?»

«I'm black and blue all over,» said Joe. «Manaolo's a rough boy. If you hadn't been here I would have ducked him. But,» he said with a blood-smeared grin, «I couldn't let you see me ducking my rival.»

«Rival?» she looked puzzled. «Rival?»

«For you.»

«Oh!» in a colorless tone.

«Now don't say 'I'm the Royal Druid God-almighty Priestess'!»

She looked up startled. «I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking that Manaolo never was–your rival.»

Joe said, «I've got to clean up and get some new clothes. Would you like to come with me or–»

«No,» said Elfane, still in the colorless voice. «I'll stay here awhile. I want to–to think.»

Thirty-one hours. The Belsaurion was due to take off. The passengers trickled back on board to be checked in by the purser.

Thirty-one and a half hours. «Where's Manaolo?» Elfane asked the purser. «Has he come aboard?»

«No, Worship.»

Elfane chewed her lip, clenched her hands. «I'd better check at the hospital. You won't go off without me?»

«No, Worship, certainly not.»

Joe followed her to a telephone. «Hospital,» she said to the mechanical voice. Then, «I want to inquire about Ecclesiarch Manaolo, who was brought in yesterday. Has he been discharged?... Very well but hurry. His ship is waiting to take off.» She turned a side comment to Joe. «They've gone to check at his room.»

A moment passed; then she bent to the ear-phone. « What! No!»

«What's the trouble?»

«He's dead. He's been murdered.»

The captain agreed to hold the ship until Elfane returned from the hospital. She ran to the elevator with Joe at her heels. In the hospital she was led to a lank Beland nurse with white hair wound into a severe bun.

«Are you his wife?» asked the nurse. «If so will you please make the arrangements for the body.»

«I'm not his wife. I don't care what you do with the body. Tell me, what became of the parcel he brought in here with him?»

«There's no parcel in his room. I remember he brought one in with him–but it's not there now.» Joe asked, «What visitors did he have?»

«I'm not sure. I could find out, I suppose.» Manaolo's last visitors were three Mangs, who had signed unfamiliar names to the register. The corridor attendant had noticed that one of them, an elderly man with a rigid military posture, had emerged from the room carrying a parcel.

Elfane leaned against Joe's shoulder. «That was the pot with the plant in it.» He put his arms around her, patted her dark head. «And now the Mangs have it,» she said hopelessly.

«Excuse me if I'm excessively curious,» said Joe. «But what is there in that pot which makes it so important?»

She looked at him tearfully, finally said, «The second most important living thing in the universe. The only living shoot from the Tree of Life.»

They slowly returned along the blue-tiled corridor toward the ship. Joe said, «I'm not only curious but I'm stupid as well. Why bother to carry a shoot from the Tree of Life all over creation? Unless, of course–»

She nodded. «As I told you we wished to form a bond with the Ballenkarts–a religious bond. This shoot, the Son of the Tree, would be the vital symbol.»

«Then,» said Joe, «the Druids would gradually infiltrate, gradually dominate, until Ballenkarch was another Kyril. Five billion miserable serfs, a million or two high-living Druids, one Tree.» He examined her critically.

«Aren't there any on Kyril who consider the system–well, unbalanced?»

She burnt him with an indignant look. «You're a complete Materialist. On Kyril Materialism is an offense punishable by death.»

« 'Materialism' meaning 'distribution of the profits,' « suggested Joe, «Or maybe 'incitement to rebellion.' «

«Life is a threshold to glory,» said Elfane. «Life is the effort which determines one's place on the Tree. The industrious workers become leaves high in the Scintillance. The sluggard must grope forever through dark slime as a rootlet.»

If Materialism is the sin you seem to believe it is– why do the Druids eat so high off the hog? Which means, live in such pampered luxury? Doesn't it seem strange to you that those who stand to lose the most by 'Materialism' are those most opposed to it?»

«Who are you to criticize?» she cried angrily. «A barbarian as savage as the Ballenkarts! If you were on Kyril your wild talk would quickly be shut off!»

«Still the tin goddess, aren't you?» said Joe contemptuously.

In outraged silence she stalked ahead. Joe grinned to himself, followed her back to the ship.

The lock into the ship opened. Elfane stopped short. «The Son is lost–probably destroyed.» She looked sidewise at Joe. «There is no reason why I should continue to Ballenkarch. My duty is to return home, report to the College of Thearchs.»

Joe rubbed his chin ruefully. He had been hoping that this aspect to the matter would not occur to her. He said tentatively, not quite sure how much anger she felt toward him, «But you left Kyril with Manaolo to escape the life of the palace. The Thearchs will learn every detail of Manaolo's death through their spies.»

She inspected him with an expression unreadable to his Earthly perceptions. «You want me to continue with you?»

«Yes, I do.» «Why?»

«I'm afraid,» said Joe with a sad droop to his mouth, «that you affect me very intensely, very pleasantly. This in spite of your warped philosophy.»

«That was the right answer,» announced Elfane. «Very well, I will continue. Perhaps,» she said importantly, «perhaps I'll be able to persuade the Ballenkarts to worship the Tree on Kyril.»

Joe held his breath for fear of laughing and so offending her once more. She looked at him somberly. «I realize you find me amusing.»

Hableyat stood by the purser's desk. «Ah–back, I see. And Manaolo's assassins have escaped with the Son of the Tree?»

Elfane froze in her tracks. «How did you know?»

«My dear Priestess,» said Hableyat, «the smallest pebble dropped in the pond sends its ripples to the far shore. Indeed, I see that I am perhaps even closer to the true state of affairs than you are.»

«What do you mean by that?»

The port clanged, the steward politely said, «We take off in ten minutes. Priestess, my Lords, may I web you into your berths against the climb into speed?»