The Dark Lady (24 page)

“It must be a bit of a letdown compared to what you experienced before you left home,” commented Heath.

“It is,” I agreed. “But the individual's happiness is meaningless. The House is all.”

“If you say so.”

“And now may I borrow the cutting instrument, please?” I asked.

He nodded, walked to the galley, and returned with a knife a moment later.

I held my hand over the soil of the First Mother, and then paused before pricking my finger.

“Will the sight of blood distress you, Friend Valentine?” I asked.

“Only my own,” he replied easily.

I cut through the flesh, and allowed my blood to trickle onto the sacred soil.

"Purple?"
said Heath, frowning.

“Not all blood is red,” I replied.

“Do you want a bandage or something?”

“The flow will stop shortly,” I assured him, and indeed it did a moment later.

“I suppose you'll want to do the next part in the dryshower,” suggested Heath.

“Yes, if you do not mind.”

“As a matter of fact, I insist,” he replied. “I hate messes.”

I thanked him, waited for the ship to leave Graustark and set off on its voyage for Far London, and then completed the Celebration of the First Mother in the privacy of the dryshower.

I had hoped that during the trip Venzia would tell us still more about the Dark Lady, but it turned out that he had already told us everything he knew. This did not, however, keep him from speaking about her incessantly, for he was totally obsessed with meeting her and learning the answer to his question.

Heath remained skeptical. He would join in each discussion, make pertinent observations, and speak of the Dark Lady as if she were precisely what Venzia believed her to be— and yet, between the end of one conversation and the beginning of the next, he would somehow once again become convinced that she was actually an alien, or, at best, a normal woman with the supernormal power of telepathy.

As for myself, I was so relieved that my Pattern Mother had not condemned my soul to eternal exile that even my status as an outcast who could never again return to his home world became bearable. To keep my mind from dwelling on my predicament, I concentrated on our quest for the Dark Lady, trying to force all thoughts of House and Family from my mind.

When the others were asleep, I attempted to capture her likeness again, though once more my meager artistic abilities failed me. One day I even tried to draw her as a Bjornn, her pale skin Patternless, her trappings black, her features perfect, her eyes sad, the Deity Herself set to ink and paper... yet when I was done she did not look like the Mother of All Things, but only like a Bjornn female with Patternless skin and perfect features. Somehow I knew then that the Dark Lady, whatever her origin and whatever her quest, came only for Men and not for the Bjornn.

I wrote another letter to my Pattern Mother, thanking her for her gift and telling her what I had learned, but I knew that she would not reply. I also wrote my Pattern Mate, formally divorcing her (though the separation was automatic with my banishment), and wishing her good fortune with the next mate who would be chosen for her. As sorry as I felt for myself, it was nothing compared to the regret I felt for my Pattern Mate, whose life, through no doing of her own, was to be recast at this late date. It could be years before the House found and approved the perfect complementary Pattern, and she would continue to be barren until that day arrived. (Or, worse still, the House in its wisdom could decide that she had wasted enough of her youth and young adulthood, and might pair her with a Pattern that did not properly complement her own. If they did so, sooner or later she might well produce a child with a Pattern that was not acceptable to the House, and thus would be forced to suffer not one but two outcasts in her blameless life.)

It was with such somber thoughts as these on my mind that I sought once again to control my emotions and direct my thoughts back to the Dark Lady. Heath was asleep, but Venzia, who had been quietly reading a book from the computer's electronic library, noticed my agitation and the lightening of my hue.

“Are you all right, Leonardo?” he asked.

“Yes, Friend Reuben,” I replied.

“Are you sure? You look distressed.”

“I am better now.”

“If you say so,” he said with a shrug. He paused. “Do you mind if I ask you a question about your friend Mr. Heath?”

“No, Friend Reuben.”

“Does he really intend to rob Abercrombie?”

“I am quite certain of it, Friend Reuben.”

“Too bad.”

“I agree,” I said. “Robbery is contrary to moral and civil law.”

Venzia smiled. “I meant that we could use him in our search for the Dark Lady, and if he tries to rob Abercrombie he's likely to end up in jail. I understand that Abercrombie's got a state-of-the-art security system in that mansion of his.”

“I think Friend Valentine might surprise both you and Mr. Abercrombie,” I said.

“Perhaps,” said Venzia, dismissing the subject. “I wonder why he remains so skeptical?”

“Possibly because he did not see her under the same circumstances that you did,” I suggested.

“Neither did you,” he pointed out, “but you seem to have no problem accepting her as she is.”

“That is true,” I agreed.

“He has the same facts at his disposal that you do,” said Venzia, puzzled. “Why can't he come to the same conclusion?”

“Perhaps it is because he has always relied upon his own powers, and has no need for a belief in someone greater than himself.”

“And you do?”

“I was raised to believe in and rely upon people greater than myself,” I answered.

“I wonder... ” mused Venzia.

“About what, Friend Reuben?”

“Almost every man she's ever taken up with was totally self-reliant. I wonder what
they
believed in?”

“I suppose we shall have to ask the next one,” I replied.

“If we can get to him in time,” said Venzia with a grimace.

“You make her sound like a murderer,” I said, “and yet we both know she is not.”

“I don't care what she is. I'm only interested in what she knows.”

I thought of her face again.

“I think that I am more interested in what she wants,” I replied.

“What she wants?” he repeated. “Hell, what she wants is death.”

“I do not think so, Friend Reuben.”

“Why not?”

“If the death of heroic men were what she craved, surely she would be sated by now.”

“Some people are never sated,” said Venzia.

“I keep remembering her eyes, the sadness of her face, the sense of longing that she radiates,” I replied. “I cannot help feeling that she is searching for something, and that she has not yet found it.”

“Searching? For what?”

“I do not know,” I answered truthfully.

We spoke for a few more minutes in a desultory fashion. Then Venzia went off to our compartment to sleep, and as I remained alone in the cabin, contemplating the Dark Lady, I found myself hoping that someday she would finally find what she sought, and that the ageless sorrow would at last vanish from her face.

After we reached far London, I reported to the Claiborne Galleries, where Hector Rayburn informed me that Tai Chong had been arrested the previous weekend while participating in a nonviolent protest for alien rights on the nearby world of Kennicott VI. She had refused to pay bail, and was due to serve two more days before being released.

“I offered to arrange for Claiborne to pay her bail,” he concluded, “but she wouldn't have any part of it. So there she sits, holding forth to anyone who will listen to her. I gather she even held a press conference from her cell!” He seemed vastly amused by her conduct.

“I am very sorry to hear this, Friend Hector,” I said. “She must find confinement in Kennicott's prison very distressing.”

“She's having the time of her life,” he said with a laugh. “Incidentally, don't I still owe you a lunch?”

“It is only ten o'clock in the morning,” I pointed out.

“You never heard of an early lunch?”

“I appreciate your offer, Friend Hector, but I truly am not hungry.”

He shrugged. “Well, it's an open invitation. Just give me a day's notice.”

“I shall do so,” I promised.

“The restaurant I told you about last time has closed,” he continued, “but I've heard of one that serves aliens. Maybe I'll check it out today and see if it's any good.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Friend Hector,” I replied.

“By the way,” he added confidentially, “what's Valentine Heath really like?”

“He is a very charming man,” I said. “Why?”

“He's been unloading stolen paintings with us for years,” answered Rayburn. “I was just curious about him.”

“Why do you accept the paintings if you know they're stolen?”

“Hell, anything that's worth money has been stolen once or twice over the years. At least Heath's paintings are hard to trace.”

“How long have you known that Heath trades in stolen artwork?”

“I guessed it when I learned that he never put them up for public auction.”

“Does Tai Chong know about it?” I asked, hoping that he would respond in the negative.

“Officially,
nobody
knows about it,” answered Rayburn with a knowing smile, “and they would certainly deny all knowledge of it to the authorities if they were questioned.” He lowered his voice. “The only reason I'm even discussing it with you is because you're a colleague, and you happen to be on intimate terms with Valentine Heath.”

“Knowing Valentine Heath does not make me a thief!” I protested.

“Of course it doesn't,” said Rayburn soothingly. “But on the other hand, it doesn't make you as innocent as a newborn babe either, does it?”

“I have never stolen anything, Friend Hector!”

He smiled. “I'm not making any moral judgments, Leonardo.”

“But you are,” I insisted. “You are saying that I have been corrupted by my association with Valentine Heath.”

“Well, the police
did
contact Tai Chong about you when you left Charlemagne,” he said.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I said. “I was not responsible for any wrongdoing.”

“Okay,” he said, still smiling. “I believe you.”

“I think that you do not.”

“Look, I seem to have upset you, and I certainly didn't mean to. We were talking about Heath.”

“We were talking about whether Tai Chong knew that the paintings Heath sold her were stolen,” I corrected him.

“Would you rather that she didn't know and didn't stand on picket lines to get you people your rights?”

“I was unaware that she had campaigned for Bjornn rights,” I said, grateful for the change in subject.

“Bjornn, Canphorite, Rabolian— what's the difference? You guys are all fighting for equality, aren't you?”

“The Bjornn do not fight,” I replied.

“You know what I mean,” he said awkwardly.

“Yes, Friend Hector,” I replied. “I know what you mean.”

“Well,” he said, walking to the door, “I'm off. See you this afternoon.”

“You must be anticipating a very large lunch,” I commented.

He grinned. “And a little something to wash it down with.” He paused. “You're sure you don't want to come along? Five-hour lunch breaks aren't going to be so popular once Tai Chong gets back.”

“No, thank you, Friend Hector.”

He shrugged, waved to me, and walked out onto the street.

Since I had been given no explicit assignment, and my two immediate superiors were unavailable, I spent the rest of the morning methodically going through the previous two weeks’ auction catalogs, hunting without success for any representations of the Dark Lady. In the afternoon I searched the listings of private offerings, with the same result.

I was just about to leave the gallery for the night when Malcolm Abercrombie called me on the vidphone.

“I heard you were back,” he said when the connection was completed and he could see my face.

“I arrived this morning,” I responded.

“Did you bring the Mallachi painting with you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell haven't you brought it out?” he demanded.

“I was under the impression that you and Tai Chong had not yet negotiated a price for it,” I said.

“So what? She'll try to rob me, I'll counteroffer, and we'll haggle for a few hours, but we all know I'm going to buy it in the end.”

“I shall have to ask Tai Chong for guidance in this matter,” I said.

“Your boss is cooling her heels in a Kennicott jail, in case you hadn't heard.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Then you must also be aware of the fact that she isn't due out for a couple of more days,” continued Abercrombie. He glared at me. “I'm not prepared to wait that long. I want it
now
!”

“I do not have the authority to give it to you,” I said apologetically. “In the absence of Tai Chong, that decision must be made by Hector Rayburn.”

“Where is he?”

“I do not know.”

“Will he be at the gallery tomorrow?”

“Yes, he will.”

“Get his permission the second he walks in the door,” said Abercrombie, “and then come directly over to my place with the painting. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Abercrombie,” I said. “It is perfectly clear.”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said ominously, and broke the connection.

I went back to my room for the night, and, after getting Rayburn's consent, delivered the painting to Abercrombie the next morning as he had ordered.

The next two days passed uneventfully as I continued searching unsuccessfully for representations of the Dark Lady.

On the morning that Tai Chong was due to return, Heath stopped in at the gallery and sought me out.

“Hello, Friend Valentine,” I said, looking up from my desk computer. “I trust you have been well.”

He nodded. “And you?”

“Quite well,” I said, wondering why he had come to the gallery.

“Have you been in touch with Venzia since you landed?”

“I speak with him every night, Friend Valentine.”

“Interesting man,” said Heath.