The Dark Lady (23 page)

Venzia smiled. “Because she wasn't revealing any secrets. Leonardo knew who she was.”

“Leonardo just figured out who she was five minutes ago!” retorted Heath.

“But I knew that she was called the Dark Lady, Friend Valentine,” I said. “And I asked her about Brian McGinnis and Christopher Kilcullen.”

“So you did,” admitted Heath.

The three of us fell silent for a number of minutes. Finally Heath uttered a chuckle. “My God,” he said. “I've just spent an hour talking about the Dark Lady as if she's really something other than a beautiful woman or a fascinating alien who has mastered the art of teleportation. I'm going to wake up tomorrow and none of this will have happened.”

“It is happening right now,” said Venzia. “And you know in your heart that she is not an alien.”

“What do
you
think she is?” asked Heath.

“I don't know,” answered Venzia.

“Leonardo?” asked Heath.

“I am tempted to say that she is the Mother of All Things,” I confessed, “but that would be blasphemous.”

“Who or what is the Mother of All Things?” asked Venzia.

“She whom we worship, as you worship your God,” I replied. “But, while I do not wish to offend you, I cannot believe that the Mother of All Things is a member of an alien race.”

“Perhaps she appears to Bjornns in a different form,” suggested Heath.

“No Bjornn performs acts that would attract the Dark Lady,” I said. “My race cherishes life.”

“So does ours, for the most part,” said Venzia. “But there she is, nonetheless.”

“You revere courage,” I pointed out. “We do not. In fact, there is no word for
hero
in the Bjornn language. The concept does not exist among my people.”

“Even herd animals are capable of heroism,” commented Heath. “Take the herd bull that faces a carnivore while the rest scamper to safety.”

“The herd bull acts from blind, unreasoning instinct, not heroism, Friend Valentine,” I replied. “Presented with a conscious choice, he would never willingly face a carnivore, and the Dark Lady seems to visit only those men who court her as a matter of choice.”

“Just a minute!” said Heath suddenly. “Your people perform ritual suicide. Wouldn't
that
constitute the kind of behavior that would attract her?”

“There is nothing heroic about ending one's own life to avoid continued disgrace, Friend Valentine,” I noted.

“We're getting off the subject,” interjected Venzia. “She visits
men.
That's enough for us to know.”

“All right,” said Heath. “We know she visits men. Now what?”

“Now we find her,” said Venzia with quiet intensity.

Heath chuckled. “It's a big galaxy, Mr. Venzia— and she might not even be in it.”

“Then we figure out where she'll appear next, and we wait for her.”

“For what purpose, Friend Reuben?” I asked.

“Poor Leonardo,” said Venzia with genuine compassion. “You've put together all the pieces, and you still haven't solved the puzzle.”

“I beg your pardon?” I said.

“We sit her down and talk to her,” said Venzia.

“Let me get this straight,” said Heath. “You've spent six years and God knows how much money trying to find her, and all you want to do is sit down and talk to her?”

“What would
you
do with her, Mr. Heath?” asked Venzia contemptuously.

“You know what I want to do with her,” replied Heath.

“I'll pay you more for her than Abercrombie will.”

“I doubt it,” said Heath. “Do you know how much Malcolm Abercrombie is worth?”

“All I want is five minutes of her time,” said Venzia. “After that you can sell her to Abercrombie or do anything else you want with her.”

“
If
she will let you,” I put in.

“One million credits, Mr. Heath,” said Venzia, never taking his eyes off the other man.

“A million credits for just five minutes?” replied Heath.

“That's right.”

“A lot of men have spent considerably more than five minutes with her,” said Heath, “and I'll wager that she never told them what you want to know.”

“They didn't know who she was,” replied Venzia. “
I
do. They probably never asked her the right question.” He paused. “
That
is my advantage.”

“Assuming that she answers you at all, how will you know if she's telling you the truth?” persisted Heath.

“I'll know,” said Venzia confidently.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but I truly do not know what you are talking about.”

Heath looked amused. “He's got something very important to ask her, Leonardo.”

“What is it?”

“What lies beyond?” answered Venzia intently. “She is the only person who knows.”

“It may be sacrilegious to know,” I cautioned.

“It would be foolhardy not to, if one has the opportunity,” replied Venzia. “Is there a true religion? At whose altar should I worship? What traits and habits must I forsake? What must I do to assure my arrival in Paradise? Or if there is nothing beyond this life, then at least I will be free to do whatever I choose.”

“You're free now,” pointed out Heath.

“Only because I am ignorant of the consequences of my actions,” said Venzia. “This way I'll
know.
”

Heath smiled. “A heavenly insurance policy.”

“If you wish.”

“You expect a lot for your money, Mr. Venzia,” said Heath.

“I intend to get it,” said Venzia earnestly.

Venzia spent the night at the chalet, and in the morning it was decided that the three of us would leave Graustark for Far London.

I not only had my work to do, but now that he had lost the Dark Lady again, Venzia was convinced that sooner or later a new painting of her would come up for sale. In the meantime, he would return with us to Far London where he could keep in frequent contact with me, while he monitored likely heroes and daredevils on the video and programmed his computer to sift through the immense number of printed and electronic media available to it.

As for Heath, I don't think he was fully convinced that the Dark Lady was what Venzia and I claimed her to be, but he had no objection whatsoever to accompanying us to Far London, since that was where he would find Malcolm Abercrombie.

Venzia left the chalet an hour ahead of us, since he had to retrieve his snowcart and return it to the rental agency, and we arranged to meet at Heath's ship, since Venzia had come to Graustark on a spaceliner and had no ship of his own.

“It's going to be a little cramped,” observed Venzia, when he had finished carrying his luggage through the entry hatch.

“It wasn't designed to carry three people,” replied Heath.

“I can see that,” said Venzia. He turned to me. “Here,” he said, handing me a square box that was perhaps twelve inches on each side and eight inches deep.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea. Tai Chong told me to deliver it to you.”

“A present from Tai Chong?” I mused happily, accepting the box.

“I got the impression that it arrived from Bjornn, and that she was holding it for you,” answered Venzia.

“From Benitarus II,” I corrected him gently. “Bjornn is the race; Benitarus is the planet.”

“Whatever you say,” said Venzia, losing interest. He turned to Heath. “I'm hungry. How do I get something to eat?”

Heath nodded. “Just go into the galley and tell it what you want. It's voice-keyed.”

“Where do I find its menu?”

“It can make anything you ask for, as long as you don't mind soya products.”

“Thanks.” Venzia headed off to the galley, and Heath turned to me.

“Well?” he said.

“Well what, Friend Valentine?”

“What's in the package?”

“I do not know.”

“Aren't you going to open it?”

“I thought I would do so in the privacy of my compartment,” I replied.

“You don't have any privacy in your compartment,” responded Heath with a smile. “You're sharing it with Venzia.”

“Then I shall open it here and now,” I said.

“Excellent idea,” said Heath.

I set the package on a flat surface and stared at it without moving.

“What's the problem?” asked Heath.

“I am afraid,” I replied.

“You think perhaps someone sent you a bomb?” Heath smiled. “Don't worry, Leonardo; my ship's sensors would have identified anything dangerous.”

“It is not a bomb,” I said.

“Then what is it?”

I sighed. “I know what it
should
be. I do not know what it is.”

“You're not making very much sense, Leonardo,” said Heath. He paused. “Would you like me to open it for you?”

“No,” I said. “I will open it myself.”

“What's all the fuss about?” asked Venzia, carrying his plate in from the galley.

Heath shrugged. “Ask
him,
” he said, jerking his head toward me.

“I did not mean to disturb either of you,” I apologized.

“Fine,” said Venzia. “Then open the damned thing and let's get the hell off the planet.”

I turned to Heath. “Perhaps you would prefer to take off first,” I said. “The package can wait.”

“But
I
can't,” he replied. “You've made such a mystery of it that I'm not moving until you open it.”

I sighed, and began unwrapping the box. I had to borrow a cutting instrument from the galley to complete the task, but finally the lid was ready for removal.

“Go ahead,” urged Heath.

“In a moment,” I said.

I paused, took a deep breath, and finally opened the box— and a cry of relief escaped my lips.

“Are you all right?” asked Heath.

“Yes, Friend Valentine,” I said happily. “Now I am all right.”

He peered into the box.

“What's going on here?” he asked. “It's nothing but dirt.”

“It is from my Pattern Mother,” I answered.

“Why would she send you dirt?” persisted Heath.

“It is soil from the sacred hand of the House of Crsthionn,” I said.

Venzia seemed to lose interest, and took his meal into the compartment that he was sharing with me.

“I assume that's a good thing to receive,” remarked Heath.

“Yes,” I said. “I was afraid that the package might contain something else.”

“Like what?”

“
Anything
else.” I paused. “Each Bjornn celebrates two holy days, Friend Valentine: the day that his House was created, and the day that his own Pattern was accepted by his House. The first occurred while we were in transit from Acheron; the second will happen, in my case, some thirty-two days from now. Now do you understand?”

“Not really,” answered Heath. “When
we
have holidays, we exchange presents, not dirt.”

“It is
not
dirt,” I explained. “It is consecrated ground, from the birthplace of the First Mother of the House of Crsthionn, she whose offspring first bred true to her Pattern.”

“Like holy water for a Catholic,” commented Heath.

“Holy water is merely symbolic,” I replied. “This is the actual soil.”

“What do you plan to do with it?” asked Heath.

“First I must borrow your cutting instrument again.”

“What for?”

“I must create a flow of my blood, that I may join my flesh with the sacred soil as a sign of my fealty to the House of Crsthionn.”

“Are you sure you're not talking about suicide?” he asked suspiciously.

“No, Friend Valentine,” I replied. “This is a religious ritual.”

“I thought killing yourself was a religious ritual,” said Heath.

“This is a more important one.”

“All right,” he said. “Then what?”

“Then I must cover my body with the soil.”

“I suppose there's a reason,” he said dryly.

“It further symbolizes my union with the First Mother,” I answered. “I must also chant three prayers: one to her, one to the House, and one to the Mother of All Things.”

“And that's all there is to it?”

“Then I will remove the soil, after which we must atomize it.”

“It seems rather counterproductive to get rid of it, if it's so holy,” offered Heath.

“But I will have polluted it by my touch,” I explained. “Therefore, it will no longer be sacred, but profane, and by obliterating it, I will have purified myself for another year.”

“What did your people do before they had atomizers?” asked Heath.

“That was also before we developed space travel, and we returned the soil to the place from which it came. Even today, those of us who remain on Benitarus II usually choose to perform the ritual at the site of the First Mother's birthplace.”

“Do the women of your race also perform this ritual?” Heath asked curiously.

“No,” I said. “Why would anyone who is already pure and sacred require such a ritual?”

“They've got you coming and going, don't they?”

“I do not understand.”

“Never mind.” He paused. “Why were you so worried, Leonardo? What would have happened if the box contained, say, a pair of gloves, or some candy?”

“It would have meant that I was forever denied the sacraments of my race,” I said.

“I thought your Pattern Mother already cast you out.”

“I have been cast out physically. Had she not sent the sacred soil, I would have been cast out spiritually as well. My soul would have been doomed to wander lost and alone for all eternity.”

“Well, at least now I understand your yelp of joy,” said Heath. “Has this particular ceremony got a name?”

“The Celebration of the First Mother,” I replied.

“And you'll get another box of dirt for your birthday?” he asked.

“It is not my birthday,” I replied, “but my Acceptance Day. It is a joyous time.”

“How does it differ from the Celebration of the First Mother?”

“When I am at home, there is an enormous feast.”

“And that's it?” he asked, surprised.

“Vows of House and Family are repeated in an elaborate ceremony, and my fealty to the House is reaffirmed.”

“How is she going to ship
that
in a box?” he asked with a laugh.

“When a Bjornn male is no longer on Benitarus II, the feast becomes the sole symbol of reaffirmation. My Pattern Mother will send me vegetation grown from her own fields, and my act of eating it will seal the bond between us.”