E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 23 - World of Promise

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World of Promise by

E.C. Tubb

Chapter One

Against the tawdry velvet the dolls were things of

enchantment: bright shapes of tinsel and glitter with hair of

various hues formed into elaborate coiffures, eyes like gems,

limbs and bodies traced with glowing colors, sparkling with

sequins, stuffed with aromatic herbs.

"Mummy!" The voice was thin, high, crackling with childish

longing. "Look, Mummyl Please may I have one?"

"No, child."

"Please, Mummy! Please!"

"No, Lavinia! Don't ask again!"

Dumarest turned, seeing the small figure at his side, the mane

of hair which formed an ebon waterfall over the narrow

shoulders—a frame for the rounded, piquant face, the widely

spaced eyes now filled with a hopeless yearning. One which

matched that of the woman who blinked as she forced herself to

be harsh.

She said, as if conscious of his presence, "You know we can't

afford to buy such things, child. Later, when we get back home,

I'll make you one. I promise."

A promise she would keep at the cost of lost sleep and small

comforts, but it wouldn't be the same. She lacked the skill to

produce such false beauty and nothing could ever replace the

magic of this special moment. Behind her a man, thick-set,

dressed in rough and patched clothing, coughed and fumbled in

a pocket.

"Maybe we could manage, Fiona, if—"

"No, Roy!" The need to refuse accentuated her sharpness.

"Bran needs all we can give him." She looked at the robed figure

standing at the man's side. "He must be given his chance."

Determination must have driven them for years and

Dumarest could guess at the sacrifices they had made. The man,

a farmer he guessed, was decades younger than he looked, the

woman the same. The youth, shapeless in his dun-colored robe,

stood with a listless detachment, the face masked by the raised

cowl pale, the eyes bruised with chronic fatigue. A family cursed

by endless study and endless economies so that one of them, at

least, would gain the chance to better himself.

But must the girl also pay?

Dumarest stooped and closed his hands about the small waist

and lifted the girl high to sit on his shoulder. As the man opened

his mouth to protest, he said, quickly, "With your permission,

sir. I have my reasons. Allow me to buy your daughter a doll."

"But—"

"Roy!" The woman closed her hand on his arm. "No,

husband!"

"He offers charity—"

"No!" With a woman's quick intuition she sensed it was more

than that. Sensed too that Dumarest would not be denied. Her

voice fell, became a whisper as, ignoring her, he concentrated on

the child.

"Choose," he urged. "Take your time and pick which one you

want."

She needed no time—the decision had been made already. Her

hand lifted, the finger steady as it aimed at the second largest.

"That one." Her tone was wistful. "Please, may I have that

one?"

"A wise choice." The vendor had remained silent knowing that

to press too soon was to risk losing the sale. Now she came

forward, smiling, smoothing the scarlet hair of the doll as she

lifted it from its place. "The finest materials and skills have gone

into the fabrication of this product. Note the eyes and the way

they seem to move as you turn them against the light. The hair

can be washed and set in a variety of styles. The face is capable

of slight alteration, see?" The cheeks developed hollows beneath

the pressure of her fingers, smoothed as she manipulated the

plastic. "And the stuffing will retain its potency for years,

bringing comfort and tranquility and restful sleep."

Valued comforts on any world and to be envied on Podesta.

Dumarest nodded, swung the girl from his shoulder,

straightened to face the vendor who still held the doll.

"How much?"

The price had been decided as the child had made her choice.

The family were poor and Dumarest wore a student's robe to

match that of the youth but their poverty need not be mutual. A

man studying for a whim, a noble paying a forfeit, a rich man

amusing himself—such were not uncommon at the fair. But the

vendor had seen his face and had abandoned the hope of an

inflated profit. Here was no gull to be cheated.

"Fifteen corlms, my lord." As she picked up the coins she

added, mechanically, "Good luck attend your studies."

"I'll echo that." Roy cleared his throat, aware of his previous

antagonism and embarrassed by it. "I thought you were taking

pity on us at first, but Fiona explained. A superstition, I

understand. Well, I'm no man to deny another his search for

luck. You're for Ascelius, I see. Just like Bran here." He nodded at

his son. "I've got him passage on the Evidia—fifth class, hard but

cheap." Then, as Dumarest made no comment, he coughed and

ended, "Well, I just wanted to thank you. We all did."

The woman, with her quick wit and the facile lie which had

saved her husband's pride, now as Dumarest extended the doll to

the child, said quickly, "Don't snatch it, Lavinia. Thank the

gentleman properly."

"How can I, Mummy?"

"You'll have to kneel," she said to Dumarest. "Allow her to kiss

you."

For a moment he hesitated, looking at the woman, reading

the understanding in her eyes. Then he knelt, the doll in one

hand, arms extended as the child ran into their embrace.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for the doll." Then

she was warm and soft against him, the touch of her lips moist

on his cheek, small hands at his shoulders. A timeless instant

which shattered as he rose to stand above her, the silken

smoothness of her hair a memory against his palm—a moment

she had already forgotten, engrossed as she was with her new

toy.

The wind had turned fitful, gusting from the town and

blowing over the field, the clustered booths of the fair, catching

the rising columns of colored smoke and stinging his eyes with

drifting acridity.

Blinking, Dumarest took shelter in an open-fronted tent,

buying a mug of spiced tisane, sipping it as he looked over the

area. The crowds had thickened as had the noise, and both

would increase as the night grew older, not easing until the

dawn, not ending until the closing of the fair two days from now.

A misnomer—the fair was only called that because of the

entrepreneurs taking advantage of the occasion; the vendors and

touts, the harlots and gamblers, clowns, tumblers, freaks, the

sellers of dreams and builders of hope, the merchants and

traders and caterers to vice and pleasure who moved from world

to world adding color and gaiety to a host of gatherings, living

like transient parasites on the events of time.

"A word in your ear, sir." The man standing beside Dumarest

looked cautiously from side to side. "But first your promise that

our discourse will remain confidential. I have it?"

Dumarest sipped at his tisane.

"A man of discretion," applauded the stranger. "One who

knows that silence is a message within itself. Now, sir, to be

frank, I find myself in an invidious position. My client—I am an

investigator—has died. The assignment he gave me was to obtain

for him certain information regarding an examination held

before the granting of a degree of special merit on a world which

need not be named at this time. Passing the examination and

gaining the degree offers great financial and academic

advantages. The cost of obtaining the information—to be frank,

the answers to the questions—was considerable and, as I

mentioned, my client died before I could be recompensed. You

understand the situation?"

"I think so." Dumarest looked into his mug. "You want to sell

me the answers to the examination questions?"

"You put it bluntly, sir, but you have grasped the point. Such

an intelligence does not shame the robe you wear. Now, as a

student, you will appreciate the opportunity I offer. Copied, the

information will make you financially independent, and a few

sales will recoup the initial outlay."

"I'm not interested."

"You should be." The man had a thin, avian face, the eyes

hooded, the mouth pursed. "Need I remind you that education

does not come cheap? That to fail an examination could mean

the loss of years of effort? Isn't it logical to take all precautions

against that happening?"

Dumarest said flatly, "I told you I'm not interested. You're

wasting your time. Now just move on and stop bothering me."

He finished the tisane as the stranger moved away in search

of a more gullible victim. He could even find one; some scared

and timid youth desperate at the thought of failure and willing

to buy an imagined security. More likely the relative of a student

would fall for his lies and hand the expensive rubbish over as a

final gift. In either case both would have paid for their folly.

Setting down the empty mug, Dumarest moved from the tent

and paused on the wide path running between the facing booths.

Between two of them he could see the area beyond; more open,

thronged now with little groups, studded with stands selling

drinks, comestibles, gaudy confections. A scene lit with the

burning hues of torches set high on slender poles; chemical flares

casting patches of somber browns, smoldering oranges, dusty

blues, intense purples, vivid greens, burning yellows, savage reds.

Circus colors augmented by the blaze of stars covering the sky in

a myriad of glittering points, the sheets and curtains of

luminescence, the silver glow of triple moons.

From somewhere down the midway came the thud of drums

and a sudden burst of laughter; strained amusement too raucous

to be genuine, sounds made to cover an aching grief, a fear, an

anxiety grown too great. Those gathered had not come for the

fun available but to make their farewells— all wearing the

dun-colored robe would be taking ships for Ascelius, the vessels

themselves now ranked on the field or heading into orbit.

"Mister!" A woman called to him, her body moving with

sinuous grace. "A lecture hall can be a dull place—why not take a

little pleasure while you can? Come with me and taste the

realities of life. For ten corlms I will teach you a new art. For

twenty I will stun your senses. For fifty I will give you paradise."

She shrugged as he moved on, knowing better than to scream

insults, knowing such actions could bring an ugly return. And

why waste time on one when others were available?

Dumarest heard her make a fresh offer as he slipped between

two booths and into the open area. His ship was on the field, his

passage booked, but for reasons of his own he delayed boarding.

Instead he walked to where a throng had gathered around an

area bright with unexpected light. The crowd had formed a

circle, faces turned like sun-loving flowers toward the

illumination, eyes intent on what they saw.

A cage stood beneath suspended lights, a thing of stout bars

and braces, wheeled for ease of transport, ringed with a handful

of guards. In it paced a beast.

It was half again as tall as a man, twice as broad, the hands

like spades, the fingers tipped with claws as were the toes of the

splayed feet. The body was dark with thickly matted hair grown

so close that it seemed the texture of horn. The face was a

nightmare of jutting jaw, fangs, burning eyes and pointed ears.

The plated skull bore two stubby horns, their tips glistening with

metallic sharpness. The neck was as thick as the thighs, which

were as thick as the waist of a woman.

"Look at it!" A man sucked in his breath as he spoke to the

woman at his side. "How would you like to meet that in a dark

alley?"

"I wouldn't." The sight which entranced him nauseated her.

"Come away, Lou."

"You don't like it?"

"I think it's vile." She gave her reason. "It's too much like a

man. An animal is one thing but this is disgusting." An

association others had made and which added to its attraction.

The head guard, sweating despite the cold, walked past, a

padded cap held suggestively in his hand. In it rested the gleam

of coins.

"What is it?" He shrugged at the question, pausing until a few

coins had joined the others, smiling as he received his due.

"Friends you are fortunate to have the privilege of seeing a

product of the Chetame Laboratories. Note the coat, the eyes, the

fangs. The body hair is as fine as fur, matted almost at the skin

to form a natural armor. The hide itself is as tough as that of a

bull. The fangs are copied from the stabbing teeth of a feline,

while within the jaw lie the pointed molars of a carnivore."

He paused, waiting for the expected questions.

"The feet? They are modeled on those of a bird and can kick

forward as well as back. The horns alone bear the touch of added

artifice, as you can see by the gleam of metal tips. A worthy

opponent for any hunter seeking a novel prey. A guardian of

value for the protection of home and palace." He allowed himself

to be humorous. "If any of you gentlemen wishes to safeguard the

chastity of your woman then a beast such as this would be a

good investment—but first make sure it has been gelded."

A titter followed the crude joke, one not appreciated by the

woman who had spoken before.

"That's enough, Lou! If you want to stare at that thing then do

it alone."

"Wait a few more minutes."

"No! I'm going! Come with me or don't bother to call again!"

The threat sent him to accompany her as she moved from the

crowd. Others were not so squeamish. A guard yelled as a

half-dozen young men, none robed, all a little intoxicated, thrust

striped wands through the bars in an attempt to goad the beast.

"Are you mad? Back there! Back, damn you!"

"Fools!" The head guard glared his displeasure. "Have they

nothing better to do?"

"Is it safe? Could it break loose?"

"No." The guard smiled as he reassured the man who'd asked.

"But it's best not to torment the creature. Anger makes it hard to

handle and we like to keep it quiet."

Nonetheless dilettantes laughed as they threw stones into the

cage. Bored, jaded, the idle parasites of a strugglng culture, they

considered themselves above the restrictions binding others.

Dumarest heard the guard yell again as he moved away. Heard

the mocking reply, the sudden snarl from the creature which

filled the air with the raw taint of primeval fear, roar repeated as

again the men goaded the beast.

The guards were fools. They bore clubs and should have used

them. Instead they added to the din with futile shouting, a

stupidity matched by the original error of displaying the

creature in the first place.

The noise faded as he merged with the throng in the midway,

listening to the siren call of a young girl offering a variety of

exotic experiences: sensitapes which gave a full-sense illusion of

reality; analogues which conveyed alternate pleasures; sexual

coupling of beasts, killing, burning, dying, the terror of the

chase, the thrill of the stalk; drugs to heighten perception, others

to increase the sensitivity of nerves so that a touch became an

ecstasy, a kiss unendurable pleasure; compounds to dull, to

distort, to change; salves, pills, tablets, tonics—the girl offered

them all.

"And you, my lord?" Her eyes met Dumarest's. "Is there

nothing you desire?"

Nothing she could supply and she must have read the answer

in his eyes. Oddly her own filled with tears.

"I am sorry, my lord," she whispered. "So very sorry."

A sensitive? It was possible, carnivals and fairs were natural

resting places for such misfits. But what had she seen to make

her cry? What had she guessed?

Perhaps nothing—the tears could have been a trick to attract

others, a little showmanship to enhance her standing. A facile

explanation, but Dumarest hesitated to accept it. A warning? It

was possible and his back prickled to the familiar sense of

danger. Podesta was the staging point for those heading for

Ascelius. It was the cheap and easy way which was why it was

popular with students and, at this time, it was simple to become

lost in the crowd, which was why he had chosen to travel in the

guise of a student. Had the girl seen through his pretense? Had

she known that others had done so?

To pursue those questions would invite the very attention he

needed to avoid. There was nothing he could do but to wait and

remain inconspicuous.

He bought a skewer of meat from a stall and moved on while

he ate, pausing at the blaze of light thrown by lanterns over a

gambling layout, watching as the dealer taught those placing

bets how to manipulate the cards. A lesson they never even

suspected—the man was good at his trade.

A crone offered vials of potion guaranteed to win adoration. A

tall, gaunt man offered a drug which would increase the ability

to memorize data. A woman with silver hair dotted with scarlet

made crude jests as she persuaded a bunch of students to buy

her system of mnemonics. A monk lifted a chipped bowl of worn

plastic.

"Of your charity, brother."

Dumarest paused, tearing the last of the meat from the

skewer and throwing aside the wood. The monk followed it with

his eyes, saying nothing, but his meaning was plain. Dumarest

had eaten—others would starve. If he could realize that, realize

too that, but for the grace of God, he could be one of them, then

the millennium would be that much closer. When all accepted

the basic credo then it would have arrived.

Brother Lond would never see it. Mankind bred too fast,

spread too quickly, but to cease from struggle because the aim

was distant was alien to the Church of Universal Brotherhood of

which he was a part.

Now he lifted his bowl, tall and gaunt in his robe of brown

homespun, the bare feet in their sandals gnarled and stained

with the dirt of the field, an old man who had dedicated his life

to the easement of suffering. His head lowered as Dumarest

dropped coins into the bowl.

"You are generous, brother."

Dumarest said dryly, "Aren't you going to wish me good

fortune in my studies?"

"If it will please you." The sunken eyes of the monk were

direct. "But do you go to study, brother? Or do you go to hide?"

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