Jango (26 page)

"Why not?"

"Well, no one knew what there was on the other side. And I suppose you can't want something that you know nothing about."

"No. I suppose not."

"So the little man felt as if he wasn't much use to anybody. There he was, the keeper of the key to the door, and no one ever asked him for his key. He wished he was like the other people he saw, going about their busy lives with so many busy things to do."

"That's just like me," said Filka, greatly surprised. "That's how I feel."

"He thought of giving up being the key-keeper and going away. But what if someone came to the door after he'd left, and wanted to go through?"

"He could leave the key in the door," said Filka.

"He did even better than that. He unlocked the door, and he opened it."

"He opened it!"

"And then he went through."

"He went through!"

"And he was never seen again."

"So what happened to him?"

"No one knows."

"Oh." Filka was disappointed. "I thought the story was going to have a happy ending."

"It does," said Jango. "He left the door open."

At this point Filka realized that there was a door in the wall ahead.

"Look! There's a door here, too!"

"So there is."

Filka ran on, filled with excitement, and reached the door before the slower old man. He turned the handle. The door opened.

"It's open!"

"So it is."

"I could go through!"

"So you could."

"Shall I?"

He looked at Jango with apprehension.

"If you like," said Jango.

"I do."

So Filka went through the door. The old man did not follow him. Instead he unfolded his sitting-stick and settled himself down with a sigh to wait. The gulls that had been wheeling and calling in the air all round now flew down to land and settled on the top of the wall and on the ground by his feet. One of them came to rest on his shoulder.

"Back again," said Jango, closing his eyes.

S
EEKER WALKED FAST.
A
S LONG AS HE WAS ON THE OPEN
plain in the clear light of the chill winter day, he felt no fear. The land cloud lay ahead of him, heaving slowly in the wind. It formed a clearly defined mass, as wide as a valley but no higher at its highest point than the taller trees in the Glimmen. It was grayish white in color and seemed to be made of roll upon roll of vapor, not at all like the hazy mist that hangs over water meadows on an autumn morning. The land cloud was heavy and brooding and silent.

He thought as he went about the danger that faced him in the cloud and about how he would meet it. He was confident of his own strength, less so of his resolve. His mission was to kill. He had never killed before and was not sure he would be able to do it. These enemies, these savanters, these lords of wisdom, were old and weak; and yet somehow they were more powerful than the Nomana
themselves and threatened the very survival of the Nom. So he must have no pity.

Leave one alive and it will all begin again.

As he came closer to the land cloud, it disappeared. The heaving gray-white mass was no longer before him. There behind was the open scrub leading back to the Glimmen. Above, the winter sun, white in a dappled sky. Ahead—nothing.

I must be in it, thought Seeker.

It was almost a disappointment. The feared shadow had not fallen over him. There were no waiting monsters. Just more of this stony weed-riven ground and a light haze.

He walked on. After a while he looked back, and behind him was the same haze that lay before him and to either side. Above he could still make out the white disc of the sun, and daylight illuminated the land round him. But farther away, in the far distance, the mist shut him in. As he walked, he carried a region of clear vision with him. After he had passed, the cloud closed in once more.

All this time he had been following a road—the continuation of the same road that passed through the forest. There were no wheel ruts to mark the way, but many boots had clearly tramped along it, and the beaten ground was easy to follow.

But where was the danger? Where were the enemies?

Seeker walked on into the nothingness, and the farther he went the less sure he became. What if nothing was as he had been told? Narrow Path might have been lying to him, for some secret reason of his own. And the strange old man called Jango was clearly half mad. Yet here he
was, obedient to the instructions of a liar and a madman, losing all grip on normality.

Movement ahead. A blur of shadow. A figure in the mist.

It was a person standing by the road, waving. Indistinct as a ghost. Uttering a faint cry.

"Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!"

Seeker approached cautiously. Shortly he made out the form of a woman: a strange-shaped head, a broad body, a raised waving arm.

"Over here! Yoo-hoo!"

Not a strange-shaped head, but a head-scarf. He was closer now and could make out more details. She wore an apron over an ankle-length wool work dress. She wore sheepskin boots. She was tubby. She was pink-cheeked and smiling.

She had no eyes.

"Yoo-hoo!" she sang out, still waving, although he was now quite near. "Over here!"

"I see you," said Seeker.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, evidently pleased. "You can never tell, in this nasty mist. People do get lost. But you must have kept to the road."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm just here to show you the way. How many are there in your party? It seems to me it's very small."

"Just me."

"Only one? That's most unusual. But never mind. I mustn't keep you waiting—you'll catch cold. The beds are made up. Follow me, please."

She set off into the mist.

Seeker had no idea what she was talking about, but he followed. Whatever else she was, this pink-cheeked lady with no eyes did not seem to him to be a savanter. So he hastened after her, supposing that somewhere ahead a house would loom up out of the whiteness.

Instead he saw more hazy figures. His guide called ahead.

"Party of one!"

"One?" came the reply. "Only one?"

The figures ahead were more women wearing head-scarves and aprons. They too were eyeless.

Now, seeing several together, Seeker felt a chill of fear. Who were these people? Not normal people, born with eyes that had been lost. These women had no eye sockets and no eyebrows. From cheekbones to foreheads there was nothing but smooth skin.

"Come along, then," they said to him. "You'll be tired and sleepy."

"Who are you?" said Seeker.

"We're the nannies," said the stoutest of the ladies. "Just ask for Nanny, and one of us will come right away. Now hurry along."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Why, go to bed, of course. It's bedtime."

And there, just visible in the mist ahead, stood two lines of beds. The beds stretched away into the haze, so there was no way of telling how many there were. Each bed had a sturdy iron bedstead and a white pillow and was made up with clean white sheets and cream-colored blankets.
The nannies were already bustling on ahead. One of them turned down the bedclothes on the nearest bed. The others waited in a gaggle for Seeker to join them.

"I'm sorry," said Seeker. "I don't want to go to bed."

They pressed round him, patting and prodding him with their soft hands.

"They all say that," said the head nanny. "We're not tired, they say. We want to stay up longer. But Nanny knows best."

She urged Seeker towards the bed.

"I've come to meet the savanters," said Seeker.

"Mother will be along soon," said the head nanny as if she hadn't heard him. "She'll want to find you all tucked up in bed."

"Who's Mother?"

"Who's Mother? She's the one who loves you, of course. Now come along."

There were more of the nannies than he had realized. They were all soft and stout and seemed to use no force, but it proved difficult to withstand their urging. Seeker found himself pushed onto the waiting bed.

It was time to resist.

He discovered then for the first time that the secret skill was powerless against them. The nannies had no eyes. He must rely on brute force.

"Get back!" he shouted, and he hit out.

"Oh, the naughty boy!" said the nannies, surging ever closer round him. His blow landed, but it had no effect. The nannies were squishy but firm.

He felt himself being lifted up, and even as he struggled,
the bedclothes were being drawn tight over him and tucked in.

"There's a good boy," said the head nanny. "Bedtime now. You lie quiet."

He had very little choice. The bedclothes held him like bands of steel. He struggled but was helpless.

"Mother will be along soon to kiss you good night."

With that, the nannies all tiptoed away.

Seeker lay still, thinking what best to do. He was sure that if he followed his training and concentrated the lir in him he could break out of his bonds. But just as he began to still his mind, he heard the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps. Strapped down as he was, he had limited vision. He made out a stooping black-clad figure. He heard a voice that was sweet and low.

"There, there. Is my baby sleepy? All safe now. Mother's come to kiss you good night."

She was by his bedside now, gazing down at him. Seeker saw a beautiful smiling face—not the face of his real mother, but the face of a perfect mother, the mother who would never age and die, the mother in whose arms he would always find comfort and rest. He felt a warm softness flow through his body, relaxing all the tension in his muscles and promising sweet deep sleep. The mother stooped down low and stroked his cheeks, and her touch was so loving and gentle that Seeker closed his eyes and smiled.

"That's the way, my baby," whispered the mother. "No more fear, Mother's here."

Seeker heard his own voice in a sleepy murmur.

"Kiss me good night, Mother."

"Mother always kisses her babies good night."

He felt her sweet lips press softly against his brow, and the love flowed into his mind and heart, and he knew that he was safe forever and could let himself sail away into oblivion.

But somewhere deep inside him there sounded an echo of a voice from far away.

Refuse to play their game.

He struggled against the sweetness. He stirred beneath the tight, binding bedclothes. He forced his eyes to open.

"No, no, my baby," murmured the caressing voice. "My baby's a good baby and wants to go to sleep."

Seeker uttered a wordless sound. His mouth felt dry.

"Greedy baby! You want another kiss, don't you?"

The loving face descended. Seeker gathered spittle in his mouth. As she prepared to press the kiss on his brow, he spat.

For a fraction of a second, her expression changed. In place of the loving smile he saw a face twisted with hatred. Then the mother face returned.

"Oh, you bad baby!"

She stroked him. It was unbearably sweet. But he had seen her truth.

"Savanter!" he said.

This time the mask fell away altogether. He was staring at a woman in extreme old age, her skin blotched and gray, her teeth gone, her eyes cloudy. He streamed his power into her, hoping to flood her defenses. She staggered back, uttering a cry of fear, but he would not let her
go. He knew this was his only chance to take control, and he held nothing back. He hurled his lir into her, and he felt her choke and gasp.

But she was strong. Stronger than he could ever have believed. Once the first shock was over, he could feel the elastic power with which she retreated before him, and he knew that at any moment now she would come stinging back.

Let it come. Not like a rock. Drink it in.

The half-remembered words echoed in his mind.

The savanter was back, smiling her thin dry lips.

"So I'm a savanter," she said in a crackly voice. "No good-night kiss for you."

She struck, fast and deadly, stabbing the blade of her will deep into his mind. Seeker knew as the blow came that it was more powerful than anything he could ever deliver in return. But he had no need to strike back.

He drank her in.

He heard her gasp. He felt her struggle. But he had her clasped to his very being. And as he gripped her, he sucked the force from her and felt himself swell with redoubled strength.

"How?" she stammered. "How?"

He drew a deep breath, directed his new lir to his arms, and with a single movement tore the bedclothes from his body. In that same moment, the savanter reeled back from him and covered her face with her withered hands.

She shook her head, shook all her body, as if to ward off the horror.

"It can't be," she said. "After all this time..."

Then she backed away into the mist. She moved with extraordinary speed. Before he could think to pursue her, she was gone.

Seeker jumped from the bed and ran after her, all down the long lines of empty waiting beds. Ahead he could hear the patter of her hurrying feet. He followed, into the ever-deepening mist.

R
ADIANT
L
EADER AND
A
MROTH
J
AHAN, EACH ACCOMPANIED
by a large retinue, arrived together to witness the test. The Jahan was duly impressed by the massive structure that filled the imperial arsenal's yard, but his keenest interest was in the little scientist.

"So you're the fellow who makes the bombs, are you?"

"I am, Excellency."

"Your own work, is it?"

"I'm proud to say, Excellency, that I am the only man living who understands the complex process of making charged water."

"Is that a fact? Then you must be some kind of genius."

Professor Ortus found this attention very agreeable. Radiant Leader understood the Jahan's scheme and quietly resolved to thwart it.

"Professor," he said, "would you be so kind as to walk over here with me and explain a point of detail? The scaffolding is still to be removed, surely?"

"Yes, Radiance. Any moment now."

When he had the scientist out of hearing of the Jahan, Similin whispered to him.