Eyes of the Calculor (13 page)

"So? You're going to work until only ninety-five. You've been saying it for years."

"I. . . might work on."

"What?" exclaimed Closter, thoroughly alarmed. "Why?"

"Well, I never realized that I might be the first to work a hundred years in Libris."

Closter shuffled the next few dozen steps in silence.

"Unless ye got beneath a very large, falling book," he muttered, more to himself than Lermai.

In Dolorian Hall the carpenters, clockmakers, and Dragon Librarians were all standing silent as Closter and Lermai arrived with their trolley. The elderly men began to unload, but were told to stop by a Dragon Green. Two dozen desks were already populated by

components, all of whom had their abacus frames reset. A system herald and several regulators stood ready. A Dragon Gold who was the former system controller addressed them.

"The reference beat will be every two seconds at first," he explained. 'Tor this revival exercise, we shall only be running the old SYKO operating system."

"That's Submit or You're Killed Otherwise," said Lermai.

"Aye, aye, I was there when it was first used!" Closter hissed back.

"We shall be running a precompiled decoding program written in SLAP."

"That's Simple Language for Assembly Protocol," explained Lermai.

"I know, I know!" exclaimed Closter.

Everyone turned to stare at the two attendants.

"Would you mind not distracting the slaves?" said the system controller.

"Components," the system herald added.

"Quite so," he agreed, but with a sneer at the system herald. "Now, at my beat. . . start!"

The system controller set a clock in motion that rang a bell every two seconds, and the components got to work on their abacus frames. Lermai had counted 317 beats when the only FUNCTION on the team held up his hand. The herald cried "System hold!"

The system controller walked over as the FUNCTION wrote down the output in the corresponding words in Austaric.

"The message reads / GET IT WORKING BY OCTOBER OR I SHALL ADD YOUR BALLS TO THE BEADS ON YOUR ABACUS FRAMES / HIGHLIBER DRAMOREN /" the FUNCTION read. The all-male team of components squirmed uneasily.

"Well, it seems that you are safe from becoming eunuch components," said the system controller. "For now. That is precisely what was in the test message. Three cheers for the new Libris Calculor."

Closter and Lermai returned to unloading their trolley as ZAR 3, the third version of the Libris Calculor, rattled into life again.

"Hen, just like the old days," Closter chuckled. "Wonder how long before the first component gets shot for negligence?"

Griffith, the Central Confederation

Keclor was in the garden, practicing his dueling turns when Velesti found him. He was walking in a straight line away from a melon impaled on a stick at the height of a man's head. With each step he counted aloud.

". . . eight, nine, ten!"

He whirled and brought the gun around in both hands and squeezed the trigger. There was a click-pop as the flint struck sparks into the charge in the priming pan, but there was no main charge or ball in the barrel. Velesti stood looking at him, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

"My brother, may I speak with you?" she asked.

"Well, yes."

"What happened to me?"

"You were sick for a long time. Uncle Torumasen cured you."

"Someone attacked me, and it turned my brain. You are training to avenge me in a duel. I have collected parts of the story and strung them together. Now I want to know the rest."

Reclor shrugged. "The medician said the truth might drive you deep into yourself again. Julica should have kept her tongue in better check."

"The truth might also free memories of the attack," said Velesti flatly. "You may be challenging the wrong man to a duel."

The thought had crossed Reclor's mind, but he had considered it too dangerous in the light of what Torumasen had said. Now Velesti had asked, however, and that seemed to change the situation. He indicated a garden seat with his Cambrissen. They sat down together, but at opposite ends.

"You had just passed the Dragon Yellow level librarians's examination, and had been walking home from the dinner with your friend Elsile. Both of you were set upon by musketeers, and some of their officers. They raped you both in a deserted stable for hours, then set the place afire. Two passing officers broke in to save what they thought were horses, but instead found Elsile dead and you

unconscious. Her throat was cut, and you were both naked and covered in filth and terribly beaten."

"How do you know who the musketeers were?"

Relief coursed through Reclor. Obviously the story was nothing more than just that to her: a story. She had no memories at all of the terrible night.

"One of the musketeers returned to retrieve something, and was caught. At first he named everyone involved, then lawyers and magistrates got to him, along with the rich family of one the officers. The musketeer who was caught is still in jail, but the others are merely at the barracks and wear the yellow circle of inquisition at their collars. No trial, no justice, and honor definitely not satisfied. All that has happened has been a civil hearing."

Reclor took a key from his pocket and led Velesti into the house and to the parlor. Unlocking a glass-fronted library cabinet, he took a briefing box from one of the shelves and set it in front of Velesti.

"If you wish to learn a little of the truth, you will have to open the box and read for yourself. Enough hurt has been done to you, and I'll do no more—but neither shall I hide the truth if you ask for it."

Velesti opened the box. She took out three sheets of poorpaper, and a parchment declaring that further proceedings were suspended, awaiting the pleasure of the city magistrate.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Yes. The declarations of witnesses, the statement from the musketeer, and finally an addendum declaring that the musketeer had withdrawn his earlier statement. It does, however, give me the names of eleven musketeers, two operations officers, and two commissioned officers. Seventeen is a standard squad, but the two other men have been accounted for as innocent. One was a sergeant who became involved in a brawl early in the night and was locked up by the Constable's Runners. The other met with a harlot and left the others just before you and Elsile were attacked. In general terms the musketeer's first statement is as close to the truth as anyone is liable to confess."

Velesti read the pages carefully.

"I do not know any of the men named."

"Of course not. You were set upon merely because you were female and chanced to stray within reach."

"Now you have challenged one of these men to a duel?"

"Yes. A lieutenant. I insulted him in public, quite deliberately, and he made a declaration of the aggrieved. In the eyes of the law, that makes me the challenger. Because I was still fourteen I had the option of naming a champion or waiting until I could legally duel."

Velesti put the sheets of paper back in the box and closed the lid.

"Now I understand," she said, her voice vague and flat.

He placed the box back in the library case and locked the glass door. Velesti now saw that the words "Martyne" and "Hearing" had been pressed into the leather and highlighted with gold.

"I did not see the name Martyne on any of the documents in the box," said Velesti, sitting with her hands clasped on the table.

"Martyne is Elsile's brother. Five years ago he left to pursue a vocation in the Balesha monastery, far away, in the West."

"Balesha," echoed Velesti.

"When he returns . . . well, let us just say that there will be no survivors left for me to deal with."

"True," responded Velesti.

She stood up. Her movements were smooth and careful, as if she were frightened of falling. She stared at Reclor, unblinking.

"You do not have to duel for me," she said, every word slow, precise, and deliberate.

"I was not there when you needed me, Vel."

"If you die, who will provide the family heir? It shall never be me. I cannot stand the idea of touching a man."

"Then the Disore name will die. Better that than shame and dishonor."

■ he afternoon became evening, and the evening began to fade into night. Harren and Elene Disore had dinner with their son, trying to persuade him to accept the services of a contract champion. Reclor

was firm. Again and again he insisted that he wanted to fight, he had to fight, and he would fight.

"You had a chance to make a challenge and use the family champion," said Reclor to his father as he contemplated his very first glass of wine.

"Dueling is the final resort against injustice," pleaded Harren. "There has been no inquest or trial yet."

"There will be neither!" Reclor shouted back, slamming his glass down so hard that the remaining contents splashed dark red on the tablecloth. "Lieutenant Grammain is the city magistrate's son."

Reclor stood up, his shoulders back and his arms hanging by his sides.

"There is much to do, please excuse me."

This was the end of persuasion. Reclor was going to fight, and there was no more that could be done about it. His parents stood together and came around the table to where he was waiting.

"You bring honor to the family," declared Harren, grasping Re-clor's right hand in both of his.

Elene embraced Reclor with a great rustle of lace and skirts. "I love you, and I am so proud of you," she said, her words forced and broken.

Reclor left without another word, for it was bad luck to say goodbye before a duel. He had his parents' blessing, which he had not expected. A thin, bright ray of optimism shone through the gloom that had been hanging about him all day. There was a chance that he might live. He was sure to fight with honor, but perhaps not to die for it. Good omens were the smiles of fortune, or so some old saying went.

"Fras Disore, have you spoken to Medician Torumasen?" asked Julica anxiously as she was clearing the plates away.

"About Velesti? Yes, I have."

"Is it—ah, is she crazed?"

"Between you and me only, yes. He thinks her behavior is predictable, however."

"Predictable? But Fras, she eats enough for three, and she has

gained twenty pounds in sixteen days. She will be as fat as a prize sow by Christmas at this rate."

"Does she do Torumasen's exercises?"

"Well, yes, quite faithfully. More than faithfully, and every day, but—"

"Good. He thinks that she should have something simple to focus on, to cling to."

"But Fras, twenty pounds in sixteen days!"

"That brings her weight to just one hundred and ten pounds, which is hardly excessive. Frelle Julica, the medician says that victims of such terrible attacks can chose a number of paths. Some suicide, some lose their minds, some shelter behind the men of their households, and some even pretend to become boys. In the last case they seem to think that they have ceased to be girls, and so can never be ravished again."

"She will become ugly."

"So, what is worse? Ugly and alive, or the way she was—beautiful and dying? She may think that her beauty caused the attack. She may blame it for what happened."

"Fras Disore, that is not all! When she reads she turns the pages so fast that anyone else would have trouble just reading their numbers. Fras, she does not remember me, she does not want to remember me."

Julica fell to her knees beside the table, her hands clasped. The elder Disore patted her head gently but condescendingly.

"My dear, the medician says that she may be fashioning herself into someone new, and that she regards what she used to be as a failure. Please, try to be the new Velesti's friend and companion."

Julica slowly got to her feet, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I'll try, Fras Disore, but it will be hard."

iVeclor washed, cleaned his teeth, then began to dress in the clothes that he had prepared weeks earlier. Everything had been meticulously, scrupulously laid out, polished, cleaned, or tuned to perfec-

tion. There was not a rule or protocol in the dueling or law books that he had not learned, attended to, or at least prepared for.

There was a soft rapping at the door. Reclor slid back the bolt, to find Julica waiting in the corridor.

"May I come in?" she asked after he had stood looking puzzled for a moment.

Reclor stood aside and she entered. Within his room were the birthday presents of his friends and family, but the youth showed no signs of settling down for the evening to enjoy them. He was dressed in a white shirt with fashionable puffed sleeves and a starched collar, a wide belt, blue riding slacks and calf-length boots. The pair of Cambrissen dueling pistols lay in a case that sat open on the table, and beside it was an authority to duel, signed by a magistrate that day. Julica closed the door behind her.

"So, you intend to go through with it?"

"Yes, it is arranged."

"And your parents will lose another child."

"Thank you for your faith in my skills, Frelle Julica. Besides, Velesti is still alive."

"Her body is alive, but the mind in it is only a few days old. She is a strange, cold thing now. It is hard to be close to her."

Reclor squared off in front of a full-length mirror, then turned slowly, checking his clothing for fit and stray threads.

"You look very fetching," observed Julica.

"Thank you. Do you think they will take me seriously?"

"Oh, yes. I presume the duel is tonight?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"In three hours. Don't try to stop me."

"Do what you will, I only want to protect you, Reclor. I have served you and your family for five years. I do not want you killed."

"I do not want myself killed either, but this is a matter of duty. You have duties to the family, and so do I. Well, time to be off."

Julica leaned back against his door and folded her arms. "So early?"

"Things to arrange."

no sean Mcmullen

"That is what your second is for."