The Tower Of Fear

"They tell me you saw your friend from the labyrinth again today."

"Yes sir. He was one of General Cado's bodyguards. The one who stood nearesthim on his right."

"I pay little attention to the decorative people. Why didn't you say somethingat the time, when he was there for all to see?"

"I tried. I was told to keep quiet in ranks. I'm new at this. I have to trustthe judgment of my elders. Silence seemed to be their highest priority."

Fa'tad gri

Several of the older men chuckled. "Well, young Yoseh. What do you think? Whywould Cado have his bodyguards stealing children?"

"I don't know, sir. The ferrenghi are strange."

"They are indeed. I don't know why, either. It makes no sense. No matter how Ilook at it I can see nothing in it to profit Cado. And no way to find out."

"Maybe it's something the man does on his own, sir."

"Maybe. The ferrenghi are a cruel and corrupt race. You may go. If you seethat man again, drop everything else and find out whatever you can. I'd surelylike to talk with him."

"Yes sir." Yoseh retreated hurriedly.

Nogah was right behind him. "What the hell did you have to go mouthing offlike that for?"

"Sometimes I just can't help myself."

"No one is going to hurt you," the Witch told the child, who could not stopcrying. She could not keep the exasperation out of her voice. "You drink thisand you'll go to sleep for a little while. That's all. When you wake up I'llask you some questions. After that you can go home."

The child's sobs did not slacken, but he looked up at her, wanting to believe, unable to do so.

Torgo extended one huge hand, offering the boy a cup. The child refused it.

"You'll have to force him, Torgo." Always, they had to be compelled. The eunuch did it.

The potion worked quickly. The child fought but soon drifted off. The Witch said, "I wish there was some other way to do this. Why do they fear so much?

We don't mistreat them, do we?" "We treat them better than they get treated at home, my lady. But they're too young to appreciate that."

"I don't need your sarcasm." "Ma'am?"

"I know you don't approve of the way I've been doing this, Torgo. Too gentle- hearted, you think." Torgo did not answer her.

"Come. Get him moved to the catalfique. And get the things ready. You're getting entirely too sloppy. Everything should have been ready before we started."

It was not as if Torgo did not have plenty of time. But he was growing lackadaisical, clearly becoming convinced that they were wasting their time.

The same little fear had begun to gnaw at her heart. Failure after failure, and never a positive to encourage them to go on ... Except the probabilitythat every failure meant that they were a step nearer success.

It was hard to see failure in a positive light.

All was prepared to her satisfaction when the child began to show signs of recovering. She said, "Time for you to go, Torgo." And as he started to leave,

"Has Azel been in today?"

"No, ma'am."

"He'll be back."

Torgo did not reply.

The Witch stepped inside the heavy green velvet tent that enclosed the child. She checked the charcoal to make sure it was burning properly, then begandrinking water she drew from a jar with a tin cup. She drank till her stomachached. She was going to be in that hot tent a long time.

This part was far harder on her than it was on the children. It would take her two days to recover.

She removed a lid covering a silver bowl, used a glistening silver spoon toshake a little of the bowl's contents onto the coals. A sour, bitter smoke puffed up. She leaned back, trying not to inhale too much too soon.

She had to walk the saber's edge now, going into the twilight on the edge of sleep, where the wakening child would be held by the fumes, but remaining sufficiently in control to be able to lead the boy where she wanted him to go., It did not always work. Occasionally she had to do it over. She hated that.

It got no easier with practice.

She spooned more herb, delicately, waiting for the buzzing in her head to reach the right pitch. When it did she began groping for the boy's name. That part was always tricky.

This time she could not remember. "Damn," she said softly, and began feeling through her clothing. This time she had remembered to write it down but then had not remembered to leave the scrap of paper where she could see it. She breathed shallowly, trying not to take in too much smoke.

Her fingers encountered the paper. She drew it out, frowned at it, wiped away the sweat that had begun to run into her eyes. Why couldn't she ever remember to wear a sweatband? She puzzled out the name.

"Histabel. Histabel, can you hear me?"

The boy did not respond.

"Histabel. If you hear me, answer me."

He made a sound.

"You must pay close attention to me, Histabel. This is very important. Say yes if you understand."

His "yes" was a sparrow's sigh.

"You are comfortable and relaxed and you feel very good now. Don't you, Histabel?"

"Yes."

"Good. That's good. I want you to feel comfortable and relaxed. Now I'm going to ask you some questions. Answer them the best you can. And I'm going to tell you some things. The things I tell you will all be true. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"What is your name?" "Histabel."

"Who is your father?" "Who is your mother?" "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" "How old are they?" And so forth, the boy answering every time, the answers being unimportant to the Witch except in that they set his mind in an answering mode.

"What I tell you is true, Histabel. You are four years old. In fact, today isyour fourth birthday. Where are you?"

For a time the boy's mind resisted being loosened from its anchor in time.

They always did, though with children the shaking loose was easier than it waswith adults.

"It's your fourth birthday, Histabel. You're four years old today. Where areyou?"

"At my grandmother Darragh's."

"What are you doing at your grandmother's house?" Cautiously, she led himthrough the details of a birthday celebration. When they were coming freelyshe jogged him back to his third birthday.

Third birthdays were very important to children of Qushmar-rah. If a childlived that long it was likely to survive, so it received its real name on itsthird birthday. Whatever it had been called earlier was just a nickname.

Fathers might pick names for their sons before they were born, but they wouldnot reveal them till the exactly proper ceremonial moment. Prematuredisclosure would tempt fate too much.

Birthdays were good milemarks in tracing a young life. The Witch always usedthe fourth and third to establish her dominion. She had that now. She led the child backward into time, past recollections of people, places, and things, into a time when everything had been feeling and mood, and earlier still, intothe closeness and warmth of the womb itself.

And back.

"What I tell you is true. It is a bright, su

Confusion in the child's face. The Witch wiped sweat and sprinkled herbs ontothe coals.

"Do you see it?"

"Yes." A little puzzled.

"Where are you?"

"Tel-Daghobeh, overlooking the Grey Reach." The child's voice had deepenedsubtly.

The Witch frowned. The answer did not make sense. "What is your name?"

"Shadid."

Ah. "You are Dartar, Shadid?"

"Yes."

Of course. Darters had died that day, too. She had not considered that before, nor had she encountered one before.

She controlled her disappointment. Going in she had not expected much of thisone. Slowly, she took him through the details of his happy day-the dateShadid's first son was bom. She gained her hold upon the previous incarnationand in time brought it forward to the day she had examined from thirty pointsof view already.