The cycle which Remick had experienced before but now doubted if he would again. He would stay-few monks ever retired to spend their last days in the beautiful tranquility of Pace where they served to the last in bringing comfort to those tormented by mental anguish or physical pain. He would stay and Brother Echo would stay and they would die here on this world and be burned and remembered for a while and then forgotten as those memories were erased by time.

But something of them both would remain as something of Juba would linger. A hand lifted to strike and then lowered with the intended victim untouched, a degree of tolerance intended where none had been evident before, a moment of concern for another instead of blank indifference-these things would be their monument.

To the guards who came to close the church he said, "What is this? We have the permission of the Matriarch."

"Shut up!" The back of the woman's hand bruised his lips in a casual blow. "Where is the body of the one who died?" She scowled when he told her. "Burned? How about his effects?"

She collected them as he watched, hands deft within their gloves, her bulk taut in places against the transparent membrane which covered her. A garment Remick had seen before and he restrained Echo as the man began to protest.

"Leave them, Brother."

"But Juba! His things!"

Scraps and pieces without intrinsic worth. A piece of well-rubbed stone which he had found when a lad and found a tactile pleasure in its contact A faded smear of pigments which could have been the likeness of a woman's face or the abstract swirls of a fevered brain. A pocket maze with little steel balls running in an elaborate pattern of garish colors. A kaleidosope. A device for producing bubbles from soapy water. A pair of hand puppets. A lip-flute. A book filled with entrancing pictures.

Juba had always liked children.

Remick watched as they were thrown into a sack, the small accumulation which was the sum total of a life. As the guard straightened he said quietly, "How bad is it?"

"What?"

"The sickness. How bad is it?"

A question Gustav answered later when, leaving the church and Echo under guard, the woman bustled him to a room in the palace.

Gustav also wore a prophylactic membrane as did the medical technicians who came to take samples of blood and tissue from the unresisting monk. As they left Gustav gestured to a table bearing wine and small cakes.

"Eat and drink if you wish. This may take a little time."

To starve and thirst would accomplish nothing. Remick helped himself to a cake and goblet of wine. The cake was scented with a delicate fragrance, the wine held body and warming strength.

"A disease," he said. "I had heard rumors but nothing was certain. How bad is it?"

"Bad enough. How did the other monk die?"

"Juba? He was old."

"And age killed him? That alone?"

"It helped." Remick did not mention the rough handling of the guards. "He was not diseased, brother. You have my assurance on that."

"How can you be sure? Living as you do, moving from one poverty-stricken area to another, eating when you can, always in contact with the sick-you recognize the possibility?"

Remick said quietly, "Hnaudifida has an incubating period of six days. The first symptoms are headaches, fatigue, lassitude and irritation. Then comes a mild fever and aching of the joints. The first eruptions usually become manifest on the softer regions of the body: the armpits, the groin, the insides of elbows and knees. Sometimes on the face and neck. After four days the lassitude has increased to a point where voluntary movement is resisted and the fever rages with a higher intensity. The eruptions spread and form oozing ulcers. There is a general loss of bodily fluids. The patient becomes incontinent and care must be taken to see that vomit is not sucked into the lungs. After the second week death is inevitable. How many cases have been reported to date?"

"Thirty-nine."

"Isolated?"

"Yes, thank God."

"Slaves?" Remick had expected the nod. "You may expect another two hundred percent to fall sick and of those about fifteen percent will recover if given the proper care. They will then be immune to hnaudifida." Pausing he added, "As Brother Juba was immune. As both Brother Echo and I are immune."

"You have all had the disease?"

"No, nor many others we have been innoculated against. Surely, brother, you did not think the Church so irresponsible as to send devastation among others. No monk is a carrier. All monks have been protected as far as medical science will allow against a variety of ills. How else can we do our work treating the sick?"

A thing Gustav should have known. A thing he should have guessed and yet why should he have suspected? How well did he know the monks? They came and worked among the poor and it was hard to remember that they were products of a high technology which used all knowledge and skills to achieve efficiency. He remembered things he had heard; of the long training each monk had to undergo, the conditioning and indoctrination and acquiring of ability. The poverty they displayed was real, a defense against the sin of pride, for only by rejecting possessions could they give full attention to their supplicants.

A man who has nothing has nothing to lose. And having nothing to lose has everything to gain.

Such a man could be envied.

Gustav said, "I must apologize for the inconvenience you have been caused. But, for the duration of the emergency, your church must remain closed."

To his surprise the monk didn't object. Instead he said, "Perhaps we could be of help. As we are immune we could tend the sick-it will do no harm to bring them together. Also we could help to develop vaccines to save those who have been at risk. I have knowledge of the techniques and would be pleased to work with your technicians if they agree."

They would agree, argue though they might at first, but Kathryn would see that they obeyed his orders. And the monk had given him confidence that the outbreak could be controlled. The man was so calm, so self-assured. A man confident of his strength as Dumarest had been.

Dumarest!

Why had he been such a coward as to allow the man to take his place?

Chapter Nine

The wind was from the south, blowing from Katanga over the Juntinian Sea, a breeze loaded with fragrance which stirred the leaves of blooming trees and caused their multicolored fruits to swing and turn in random motions. Blooms and fruits on the same tree and all the blooms fully open, all the fruits at a perfection of ripeness.

When you owned a universe all things were possible.

Dumarest halted, breathing deeply, looking over a conception of paradise. Ground which felt like a soft mattress covered with thickly piled carpet. Air scented with a dozen perfumes. Trees and bushes covered with blooms and fruits, nuts and berries of all imaginable hues, shapes and flavors. The moat with its fish. The castle which dominated all.

Iduna's universe.

It had to be hers. No one but a child or someone with a childish mind would want such a profusion of gaudy colors and sweetness and fairy-tale appurtenances. A refuge she had made for herself against the alien terrors which had greeted her when entering the Tau. He remembered the way she had clung to him, her tears, the abject fear of remembered horrors. Remembered too his own experiences and wondered how the sanity of a child could have prevailed.

"Earl!" Iduna waved to him from the battlements, streamers of fluttering silk adding to the luster of her hair. "Earl, come and join me!"

A command?

If he ignored it would she send guards to make him prisoner? Could they hold him against his will? Would she change the environment to send him wandering in a maze? But here in the Tau he had an equal power and no matter what move she made he could counter. A game-was everything here a game?