He sat upright, scowling, rubbing at the welts on his hand. Dumarest watched his eyes, their flicker toward the untouched clothing. They could be innocent but the boots could have hollow heels, the tunic hold documents in the lining.

  "Hans, it's time we had a talk."

  "Later. I've a headache. We got to drinking after you'd gone and I've a devil with a hammer hard at work in my skull." Zalman's eyes were bloodshot and he looked as if he told the truth. "You had a better night than I did."

  "Maybe."

  "No doubt about it. Incidentally, I checked Axilia's pockets. He's got just about enough to pay his way for three days. After that he's stranded."

  Information he could have done without, what had made Zalman mention it? Dumarest said, "When will you be ready to talk?"

  "About what? Of course, the man we came to find. Earl, I have yet to discover where he might be. Give me time and all will be arranged."

  "His name?"

  Zalman shook his head. "I trust you, Earl, but old habits are hard to discard. I must keep something in reserve. Once you have found the man I will have completed my share of our bargain, but, if you find him without my assistance, what then?" He yawned, not waiting for an answer or perhaps he had read it. "Please, Earl, could you do me a service? Ask them downstairs to send up some hot tisane and tablets to ease my head."

  Early as it was Anna was awake and busy. Dumarest found her in the kitchen, arms bare, sweat dewing her broad face. She was kneading dough and he watched as she made various shapes; snakes, fish, animals, and flowers.

  "Rolls," she explained. "It's all bread but it adds variety. I bake a lot then freeze what we don't use for later." She frowned when Dumarest told her his errand. "His head? I wouldn't have thought so—he went easy on the wine. Maybe it was something he ate? Some people can't tolerate certain spices. Well, never mind, we'll soon have him fit."

  A pot of stew stood on a stove and Dumarest tasted it as a young lad, little more than a child, went to tend Zalman. There were other youngsters in the kitchen, he noticed, girls budding into womanhood, boys approaching manhood.

  "They like it in here," she said when he asked about them. "The workers like to know their kids are safe and the rest don't care what happens to them. I just feed them and they help out in return. Not that there's much they can do but every little helps."

  "Has it always been like this?"

  "Like what? Places run down, labor short, repairs needing to be done? I guess you must have noticed. I don't know." She added, slapping at the dough, "It could have been different and I guess it must have been but that was before my time. I wasn't born here, you understand. I came with my parents oh, a long time ago. We stayed with the owner of this place and when he died I took over."

  "And your parents?"

  "Forget them—I have."

  A point he didn't press. A bowl stood on the table and he filled it with the stew at her invitation, sitting to spoon the succulent food into his mouth. Eating he looked around. The place was clean, well-fitted, filled with enticing smells; freshly baked bread, spices, fruits and nuts and pungent tisanes.

  "That man you fought," she said, abruptly. "Axilia?"

  "Sven Axilia. What about him?"

  "Has he money?"

  "Some." She had been more than generous. "Enough to pay his keep until he is fit to move. A couple of days, say."

  "As I thought. And then?" At his silence she added, "Is he willing to work?"

  Would he have a choice? Dumarest said, "He'll work. Are you thinking of employing him?"

  She misunderstood his tone. "He's ugly, I know, but he can't help that. And he lost his temper but maybe he had reason. Yes, I can use him. He's strong if nothing else."

  And the roof wanted fixing and the plumbing and there would be stone to haul and stores to shift. Boxes and crates and bales too heavy for children to handle. Skills needed which they didn't possess.

  Dumarest set down the empty bowl. As he stood Celia entered the kitchen to stand before the floured table.

  "She's awake, mother."

  "And thirsty?"

  "Yes, she wants—"

  "I know what she wants." Anna wiped her hands and moved to a cupboard from which she took a flask, a box and a tall glass. The flask held an amber liquid which she poured into the glass. "Here!" She held out some on a spoon for Dumarest to taste. "Recognize it?"

  It was sweet, heavy with glucose, laced with vitamins, thick with protein. The basic which was the food of spacemen, one cup providing energy enough for a day.

  "Is she hungry?"

  "Estelle? She needs feeding up but it's more than that." From the box Anna took a heaped measure of a glittering powder and added it to the liquid in the glass. It flashed, twinkling, vanishing as it blended with the fluid. She offered none for Dumarest to taste.

  "What's that?"

  "Manna." She sounded defiant. "She needs it if anyone does and her sister knows she's getting it. Mtouba contacted her and she phoned me. She'll be coming to collect Estelle sometime this morning. I guess you'll be glad to see her go."

  When she left he would go with her—the gratitude of her family was his only resource.

  The screen died and Elge leaned back in his chair palming his eyes. Against the darkness retinal images danced, blurred with fatigue. Elysius—a word with multiple applications. Was it a flower, a drug, a drink, a dance, a mixture, a manner of speech, a method of prayer, of meditation, of exercise? The list seemed endless; meanings garnered and fed into computers to be assessed and related to orders of probability.

  Many had already been eliminated. To search for the origin of the word if it had been a personal name was to waste time. The field of art held little hope—cybers would not be influenced by such an emotion-laden area. Foods—who could tell what a man assimilated during his lifetime? Flowers? Systems? Attitudes? All possible but of a very low order of probability. A drug? More promising but analysis had revealed no sign of any foreign compound down to molecular level. Virus infection, radioactive poisoning, radiation—all had been eliminated.

  Yet the word remained.

  Opening his eyes Elge reached for his communicator panel.

  "Master?"

  "Has a check been made on all movements and associations of both affected units?"

  The answer was immediate. "Check made and result negative. No connection with anything appertaining to elysius."

  As expected and had anything been discovered he would have been notified as a matter of urgent priority. The act of asking, in itself; was betraying proof of the accumulated toxins of fatigue now dulling his intelligence. Soon, in order to maintain his efficiency, he must sleep but before then time remained in which to work.

  A touch and again the screen flared to life. It was not necessary for a cyber to clutter his mind with facts; data was more efficiently stored in electronic memories, but it was essential for him to know what to look for and determine its value. Association was the key to successful prediction; to be aware of relationships no matter how subtle, to build from them a platform from which to extrapolate the whole.

  Elysius—there had to be a significance.

  Words flowed on the screen, halted as he read the glowing letters, moved on to halt again as he pressed buttons and dictated references. Often the answer could be found in the beginnings; a clue so obvious as to be overlooked.

  elysius—a word most probably derived from Elysian.

  elysian—a word derived from Elysium.

  elysium—a place of future happiness.

  The answer?

  In his expansion through the galaxy man had carried with him many old items of furniture; names which now identified many worlds. Eden, Holme, Heevan, Padrise, Nirvana, Olipius—a list of distortions, names shortened, changed, altered with the erosion of time and usage. Elysium—Elysian—Elysius—the connection was obvious.

  A world?

  But, if so, which?

  The screen flared again, settled to relay the information. There were seven which could be the one. All, at one time, promising settlers to be a place of future happiness. Was it the one close to a red giant? A world of steaming seas and torrid forests? That, to colonists from an icebound planet, would have seemed desirable. The one illuminated by triple suns giving constant daylight? To people from a nighted sphere it would have held merit. The one with rolling meadows and running streams? The one with mighty glaciers?

  Again he called the technicians.

  "Run a check on all possible errors in the pronunciation of the word 'elysius' in the recordings. Look for any distortions and test aligned harmonics to isolate and plot any deviation. Also make a check on all variables."

  "All, master?"

  "All."

  The word had seven letters which meant more than five thousand combinations to be checked for any association. Bad enough, but any distortion in the recording itself could widen the range and increase the load. A task impossible without the aid of machines—but one which had to be done.

  Chapter Seven

  The House of Lamont was long, low, built of stone cut and set in pleasing designs. The sharply pointed roof had upswept eaves, the windows mullioned, graced with pointed arches. An inner courtyard held a pool and a fountain shaped in the aspect of intertwined figures. A surrounding gallery was supported on columns carved with elaborate convolutions. The wide gates were of metal set with suspended gongs.

  A big, rambling house with lichen on the tiles and vegetation clinging to the walls; vines and creepers dotted with delicate blooms. One with estates and farms and the sea providing a susurrating music from the shore below the nearby cliffs. A castle with an absent king.

  "Have patience, Earl." Selina Lamont came up from behind him and dropped her hand on his arm. "There's no hurry. Jarvis will be back soon."

  Her uncle, the head of the family, as she was Estelle's elder sister. Dumarest turned to look into the clear pools of her eyes. Dark, almost black, as was her hair, the long lashes which rested like moths on her cheeks when she closed her eyes. Her skin held a summer's warmth and her body, slim, lithe, held the peculiar disjointedness of a born athlete.

  "Let's run," she urged. "Or swim. Or join the others in a picnic." Her smile faded as he shook his head. "No? Why not, Earl? What's the point in standing on this balcony looking at the sky? Jarvis will arrive when he gets here and nothing will bring him sooner."

  "You sent him word?"

  "Of course, but he knows that Estelle is in good hands and having the best of care."

  Treatment which had worked a miraculous change. Dumarest looked at her where she sported with others beyond the open gate. The vacuousness had gone, the emptiness, the taint of the peculiar blight. Now she was happy, laughing as she caught and threw a ball, vibrant with health. A girl who'd suffered an unpleasant dream but was now awake.

  A change which had been apparent when they had left the tavern and which seemed now, after three days, complete.

  Three days?

  Had it been as long as that?

  Dumarest felt the prickle of impatience but there was nothing he could do. Selina had greeted him, made him welcome, flown him back to the house in a raft which had been slow and unwieldy. A craft which had gone on to pick up her uncle.

  Three days?

  His room was comfortable, the bed soft, the food and wine excellent. Things to match the company and it had been good to rest and let the hours slip past. Selina had made them enjoyable as had the others and there had been walks and sports and contests of skill and strength and, it seemed, endless laughter. A party which promised never to cease.

  "Come on, Earl, let's swim." Selina, impatient, made her decision. "I'll meet you on the beach."

  She was gone, running like a sprite, thin fabric hugging the contours of her body. An unspoiled child of nature who had come to him in the night.

  Had it been the first night? The second?

  She had drifted into his room like a ghost, slipping into bed beside him, naked, her body cool as were the hands which had caressed him. A creature of softness eager to play an ancient game and, for her, it had been nothing more. A shallow appeasing of the senses; touches and kisses and movements leading to a desired culmination.

  At the end she had smiled and stretched and ran her fingers through his hair as if a child pleased with a new toy.

  Now, as he watched, she turned and waved and ran on toward the sea.

  Again Dumarest searched the sky.

  It was as empty as before; thin wisps of cloud far over the ocean, pale smudges of color a thin smoke over the hills. The wind was gentle and the sea, where he could see it in the distance, calm.

  Why was Jarvis taking so long?

  A man, the head of his family, would surely be concerned over Estelle's welfare? Eager to learn how she had been found and eager too, Dumarest hoped, to recompense the one who had found her. A reward would be normal. The information he could give would be, possibly, of higher value.

  "Earl!" Selina, back, was calling to him. "Come on, Earl! Hurry!"

  He wore nothing but shorts; the gray of his tunic, pants and boots a somber blotch on the bright carpet of his room, but more was unnecessary and he headed toward the stairs and ran barefoot over the sward beyond the gate. Selina was waiting for him, breaking into a run as he appeared, long legs flashing, little plumes of sand spurting from beneath her feet as she reached the wide, sandy beach.

  Others were present, some young, more nearing middle age, a few old and strolling but all paid attention to the race.

  "Selina!" shouted a youth. "I'll back you! Win and I'll take a chore!"

  "I back Earl," screamed a girl. "Two tasks if you lose, Selina!"

  Bets which were lost in the wind as Dumarest raced over the sand, feeling the heightening exhilaration of his blood, the lifting euphoria. The world narrowed to the racing figure of the girl, the need to exist only to catch her, to pass her and to win the race. A need which closed the gap between them, which brought her level, which sent him ahead to plunge into the ocean.

  "Bravo!" The girl who had backed him stood clapping her hands. "You take two of my tasks, Selina."

  "And one from me!" shouted the youth. "You lost and owe me a chore."

  Laughing Selina said, "Double or quits? Let's race to the float!"

  It rested a quarter of a mile out to sea, moored by ropes, splotched with patches of color. Immediately the water was filled with splashing figures as a crowd of others followed the girl toward it. Watching, Dumarest knew she would win.

  The plunge had cooled him a little and checked the mounting intoxication. One he thought about as he returned to the beach. It had been a moment of near-hysteria in which all caution had threatened to be lost. To race over a strange shore, to plunge into unknown waters—what if there had been rocks?

  There hadn't been so why worry about it?

  Why worry about anything?

  It was better to lie back on the yielding sand and study the enigmatic shapes made by the drifting clouds in the azure dome of the sky; wisps which made men and beasts and cities of smoke and imagination. To let the mind wander and probe into interesting regions of speculation; would Selina come to him again tonight? Should he go to her? To one of the others—the girl who had backed him could be interesting. To take a long walk toward the hills? To swim? To play with what fish might be lurking beneath the water?

  Or just to lie and look at the sky and the dot growing bigger as it came toward him. The raft which dropped down toward the house to land.

  Jarvis Lamont was old, withered, looking like a gnome as he sat in his chair. A cap of scarlet fabric covered his balding skull and a robe of vermilion and green hid his frail body but there was nothing frail or colorful about his eyes. They were as pale as the sky and as hard as diamond.

  "You returned Estelle to us," he said abruptly. "And you will be expecting a reward."

  "Recompense." Dumarest looked across the wide desk behind which the man sat. "Has she told you the story?"

  "I have seen her." A thin hand lifted, waved, "She was vague."

  "With reason."

  "Possibly. Do you wish to relate it?"

  "No." Why was the man arguing? Dumarest said, "There is nothing I can tell you she couldn't do as well. Perhaps she prefers to forget the entire incident."

  As he wanted to get the present one over. The raft had broken his introspection and Jarvis had been impatient. Surely he could have waited until dusk? And now the questioning. What point did it have? Estelle had been returned and it was a matter of family honor to settle any expenses incurred.

  "Recompense," mused the old man. "Just what is the sum in question?" He blinked at the answer. "So much?"

  "There was her passage to be refunded together with a sum for her purchase. Also her lodging at the tavern. And there is a matter of personal inconvenience." Why didn't the man just settle the debt? Dumarest ended, "If you are pleased to have her back surely you will not begrudge the money?"

  "Begrudge it? No. Being able to find it is another matter." A flask of wine stood on the desk before him, green, lustrous with shimmering particles, and before Dumarest could comment Jarvis gestured toward it. "You must be thirsty, Earl. Help yourself to wine."

  Thirsty? Dumarest was suddenly conscious of the dryness of his mouth. He poured, looked at his host, set aside the flask at the other's negative gesture.

  "Drink, Earl. I am old and wine does not agree with me, but go ahead." He nodded as Dumarest swallowed. "You have been here how long? Four days? Three?"

  "In your house? Four days tomorrow."

  "On Elysius?"

  "Add a day."

  "Finish your wine, my friend. Almost five days—long enough for you, surely, to have noticed certain things. The courtyard, for example? The condition of the rooms? The house itself—need I go on?"

  A courtyard with cracked and broken flags, the pool empty, the fountain dry. Rooms with a bucket instead of running water. Bathrooms which held dust and accumulated debris. The house itself which repeated the pattern he'd noticed in town. A pattern he recognized.