Alan Dean Foster SS2 The Hour of the Gate

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came near.
Following Caz and Clothahump, me travelers made their way toward the entrance.
There was an anxious moment when they stepped from paving to cement, but no
one challenged them. The guards flanking the approach kept their attention on
a point a few inches in front of their mandibles.
Then it was through the encircling ring, which likewise did not react. They
were a couple of yards from the entrance.
Jon-Tom had the wild notion that they might simply be able to march on into
the palace when a massive beetle slightly taller but much broader than Caz
lumbered out of the shadows to confront them. He was flanked by a pair of
pale, three-
foot-high attendants of the mutated mayfly persuasion. One of them carried a
large scroll and a marking instrument. The other simply stood and listened.
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THE HOUR Or THE GATE
"State your business, citizens," demanded the glowering hulk in the middle. He
reminded Jon-Tom of a gladiator ready to enter the arena, and pity be on the
lions. The extra set of arms ruined the illusion.
With the facility of an established survivor, Caz replied without hesitation.
"Hail, citizen! We have special, urgently requested information for the
sorcerer Eejakrat, information that is vital to our coming success." Not
knowing how to properly conclude the request he added blandly, "Where can we
find him?"
Their interrogator did not reply immediately. Jon-Tom wondered if his
nervousness showed.
After a brief conversation with the burdenless mayfly the beetle gestured
backward with two hands. "Third level, Chamber Three Fifty-Five and adjuncts."
Politely, he stepped aside.
Caz led them in. They walked down a short hallway. It opened into a hall that
seemed to run parallel to the circular shape of the building. Another, similar
hall could be seen further ahead. Evidently there was a single point from
which the palace and thence the entire city of Cugluch radiated in
concentric circles, with hallways or streets forming intersecting spokes.
Jon-Tom leaned over and whispered to Clothahump. "I
don't know how you feel, sir, but to me that was much too easy."
"Why shouldn't it have been?" said Talea, feeling cocky at their success thus
far. "It was just like crossing the square outside."
"Precisely, my dear," said Clothahump proudly. "Yousee, Jon-Tom, they are so
well ordered they cannot imagine anyone stepping out of class or position.
They cannot conceive, as that threatening individual who confronted us outside
cannot, that any of their fellows would have the presumption
223
Alan Dean Foster to lie to gain an audience with so feared a personality as
Eejakrat. If we did not deserve such a meeting, we would not be asking for it.
"Furthermore, spies are unknown in Cugluch. They have no reason to suspect
any, and traitorous actions are as alien to the Plated Folk as snow. This may
be possible after all, my friends. We need only maintain the pretext that we
know what we are doing and have a right to be doing it."
"I'd imagine," said Caz, "that if the spoke-and-circle layout of the city and
palace is followed throughout, the center would be the best place to locate
stairways. Third level, the fellow said."
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"I agree," Clothahump replied, "but we do not wish to find Eejakrat except as
a last resort, remember. It is the dead mind he controls that must remain our
primary goal."
"That's simple enough, then," said Mudge cheerfully.
"All we 'ave t' do now is ask where t' find a particularly well-attended
corpse."
"For once, my fuzzy fuzz-brained friend, you are correct.
It will likely be placed close by Eejakrat's chambers. Let us proceed quickly
to the level indicated, but not to him."
They did so. By now they were used to being ignored by the Plated Folk. Busy
palace staff moved silently around them, intent on their own tasks. The narrow
hallways and low ceilings combined with the slightly acidic odor of the
inhabit-
ants made Jon-Tom and Flor feel a little claustrophobic.
They reached the third level and began to follow the numbers engraved above
each sealed portal. Only four cham-
bers from the stairway they'd ascended was a surprise: the
corridor was blocked. Also guarded.
Instead of Ihe lumbering beetle they'd encountered at me entrance to the
palace they found a slim, almost effeminate-
looking insect seated behind a desk. Other armed Plated Folk stood before the
temporary barrier sealing off the hall beyond.
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THE HOUR Or THE GATS
Unlike their drilling brothers marching single-mindedly out-
side, these guards seemed alert and active. They regarded the new arrivals
with unconcealed interest. There was no suspi-
cion in their unyielding faces, however. Only curiosity.
It was Clothahump who spoke to the individual behind the desk, and not Caz.
"We have come to make adjustments to the mind," he told the individual behind
the desk, hoping he had gauged the source correctly and hadn't said anything
fatally contradictory.
The fixed-faced officer preened one red eye. He could not frown but succeeded
in conveying an impression of puzzle-
ment nonetheless.
"An adjustment to the mind?"
"To Eejakrat's Materialization."
"Ah, of course, citizen. But what kind of adjustment?" He peered hard at the
encased wizard. "Who are you, to be entrusted with access to so secret a
thing?"
Clothahump was growing worried. The more questions asked, the more the chance
of saying something dangerously out of sync with the facts.
"We are Eejakrat's own special assistants. How else could we know of the
mind?"
"That is sensible," agreed the officer. "Yet no mention was made to me of any
forthcoming adjustments."
"I have just mentioned it to you."
The officer turned that one over in his mind, got thoroughly confused, and
finally said, "I am sorry for the delay, citizen.
I mean no insult by my questions, but we are under extraor-
dinary orders. Your master's fears are well known."
Clothahump leaned close, spoke confidentially. "An attri- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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