Страница 94 из 130
He laughed nervously, silently, because the night was no longer empty of threat to him. He went not to his studio, but to the Fellows’ Hall in the University, and sat at that table which he and Waden had shared on a certain night, familiar scarred wood.
The University was created for Waden, and created Herrin Law, sculptor.
He drank his beer and sat alone, because he was a Master and there were no younger Students who dared approach or question him; because he was known to be powerful and most of good sense would not come to him uninvited, fearing the edge of his wit. His apprentices had spread his reputation of late and the self-knowing retreated from hazard.
He was alone. Solitary in his Universe, the only real point.
X
Master Herrin Law: Does emotion originate from within or without your reality?
Apprentice: Within. There are no external events.
Master Law: Is the stimulus to emotion also internal?
Apprentice: Sir, no external events exist.
Master Law: Am I within your reality?
Apprentice: (Silence).
Master Law: That is a correct answer.
Waden Jenks tolerated the sitting, suffered in silence, because to admit discomfort and then go on to bear it was to admit he was constrained. Herrin prolonged the misery in self-contained humor, took whatever shots might be minutely necessary, sketched from several angles, after resetting the lighting with meticulous care.
And Waden, perched on his uncushioned chair, sat rigidly obedient.
“The lighting,” Herrin said, “will be from a number of sources. I take the seasons into account; apprentices are ru
“Spare me. I’ll see the finished effect. I trust your talent.”
Herrin smiled, undisturbed. Darkened an area beneath the chin and smiled the more.
“A little haste,” said Waden. “I have appointments.”
“Ah?”
“A ship in orbit. An ordinary thing.”
“Ah.”
“There is some hazard. This is McWilliams’s Singularity.”
Herrin lifted an eyebrow, nonplused.
“An irregular client, one of the more troublesome. I’d like you to be there, Artist.”
Both eyebrows. “Me? Where, at the port?”
“The Residency, my friend.”,
“What, you want sketches?”
Waden smiled. “I find the opinion of the second mind of Freedom—an asset. You have an insight into character. I value your assessment. Observe the man and tell me what you’d surmise about him.”
“Interesting. An interesting proposal. I bypass your naïve assumption. I’ll come.”
“Of course you will.”
He stopped in midshadow, made it a reflective pause, studiously ignoring Waden, refusing at this moment to interpret him.
XI
Apprentice: Master Law, what is the function of Art in the State?
Master Law: The question holds an incorrect assumption.
Apprentice: What assumption, sir?
Master Law: That Art is in the State.
And on the morrow the shuttle was down and Camden McWilliams was in the Residency.
Herrin wore Student’s Black; it was stark and sufficiently dramatic for confrontations. He sat in the corner of Waden’s office, refusing to be amazed at the splendor of the decoration, much of the best of the University culled for the private ownership of the First Citizen. He knew the individual styles: the desk with the carved legs, definitely Genovese; the delicate chair which bore Waden’s healthy weight, Martin’s; the paintings, Disa Welby; the very rugs on the floor, work of Zad Pirela, meant as wall hangings, and here trod upon as carpet.
He was offended. Vastly offended. He observed, catalogued, refused to react. It was Waden’s prerogative to treat such things with casual abuse, since Waden had the power to do so; he recovered his humor and smiled to himself, thinking that there was one work Waden could not swallow, but which engulfed him.
Meanwhile he sketched, idly, and looked up with cool disinterest when functionaries showed in captain Camden McWilliams.
A black man of outlandish dress, bright colors, a big man who assumed the space about him and who had probably given the functionaries difficulty. Waden greeted McWilliams coldly, and Herrin simply smiled and flipped the page of his sketchbook to begin again.
“McWilliams of the irregular merchanter Singularity,” Waden Jenks said, failing to hold out his hand. “Herrin Law, Master of Arts.”
“McWilliams,” Herrin said cooly.
McWilliams took him in with a glance and frowned at Waden. “Wanted to see,” he began without preamble, “what kind of authority we have here. You’re old Jenks’s son, are you?”
“You’ve been informed,” Waden said. “Come the rest of the way to your point, McWilliams of Singularity.”
“Just looking you over.” McWilliams studiously spat on the Pirela carpet. “Figure the same policies apply.”
“I follow old policies where pleasant and convenient to me. That I see you at all is more remarkable than you know, for reasons that you won’t understand. Outsiders don’t. You’ll accept the same goods at the same rate and we’ll accept no nonsense. Trade here is not necessary.”
“We,” said McWilliams, “have the ability to level this city.”
“Good. I trust you also have the ability to harvest grain and to wait about while the new crop grows. Perhaps the military will assist with the next harvest.”
McWilliams chuckled softly and spat a second time. “Good enough, Jenks. Go on about your business. We’re loading at port. You know my face now and I know yours.”
“Sufficient exchange, McWilliams.”
“What’s this—thing—in the city?”
“Thing, McWilliams?”
“This thing in the middle of town. Scan doesn’t lie. What are you doing out there?”
“Art. A decorative program.”
McWilliams’s eyes rested coldly on him. “Nothing military, would it be?”
“Nothing military.” For once Waden Jenks looked mildly surprised. “Take the tour, McWilliams. There’s no restriction in Kierkegaard. Wander our streets as you will.”
“ Thiscity? Hell, sooner.”
“The driver will take you to the port.” Waden made a temple of his hands and smiled past them. “A safe trip, McWilliams.”
“Huh,” McWilliams said, and turned and walked out.
Herrin filled in a line, shadowed an ear, languidly looked up into Waden’s waiting eyes. “Barbarian,” he judged. “Limited in formal debate but abundantly intelligent. Canhe level the city?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Herrin’s insouciance failed him. For a moment he almost credited Waden with humor at his expense, and then revised his opinion.
“Freedom,” said Waden Jenks, “navigates a black and perilous sea, Herrin. And Iguide it. And I see the directions of it. And I shape things beyond this city, beyond Sartre, beyond Freedom itself. I am a power in wider affairs, and when they come calling ... I deal with them. This much you should see, when you portray me, Herrin Law.”
For a moment Herrin was taken aback, “My art will encompass you,” he said. “And comprehend you in all senses of the word. The man saw my work, did he not? From that great height, he saw it.”
“That pleases you.”
“It’s an intriguing thought.”
“Their vision is considerably augmented to be able to do it. Kierkegaard is a very small city, by what I know.”
“We are at our begi
“Indeed. So am I. Freedom is my begi
“We once talked of hubris.”
“And discounted it. Shape your stones, Artist. My way is scope. We talked about that too. You’ll never see the posterity you work toward. You’ll only hope it exists ... someday. But I’ll see the breadth I aim for.”