The Jewel in the Skull

  The next day Hawkmoon was again given over to the embrace of the mentality machine, and this time he lay full-length within its belly, looking upward while picture after picture was flashed before his eyes and the pictures that they first reminded him of were then flashed onto a screen. Hawkmoon's face hardly altered its expression while all this went on. He experienced a series of hallucinations where he was thrown into highly dangerous situations - an ocean ghoul attacking him, an avalanche, three swordsmen as opponents, the need to leap from the third storey of a building or be burned to death — and in every case he rescued himself with courage and skill, though his reflexes were mechanical, uninspired by any particular sense of fear. Many such tests were made, and he passed through them all without ever once showing any strong emotion of any kind. Even when he was induced by the mentality machine to laugh, weep, hate, love, and so on, the reactions were chiefly physical in expression.

  At length Hawkmoon was released by the machine and faced Baron Kalan's snake mask.

  'It would seem that you are, in some peculiar way, too sane, my lord Duke,' whispered the baron. 'A paradox, eh? Aye, too sane. It is as if some part of your brain has disappeared altogether or has been cut off from the rest. However, I can only report to Baron Meliadus that you seem eminently suited to his purpose, so long as certain sensible precautions are taken.'

  'What purpose is that?' Hawkmoon asked with no real interest.

  'That is for him to say.'

  Shortly afterward, Baron Kalan took his leave of Hawkmoon, who was escorted through a labyrinth of corridors by two guards of the Order of the Mantis. At length they arrived outside a door of burnished silver that opened to reveal a sparsely furnished room entirely lined with mirrors on walls, floor, and ceiling, save for a single large window at the far end that opened on to a balcony overlooking the city. Near the window stood a figure in a black wolf mask who could only be Baron Meliadus.

  Baron Meliadus turned and motioned for the guards to leave. Then he pulled a cord, and tapestries rippled down the walls to hide the mirrors. Hawkmoon could still look up or down and see his own reflection if he desired. Instead he looked out of the window.

  A thick fog covered the city, swirling green-black about the towers, obscuring the river. It was evening, with the sun almost completely set, and the towers looked like strange, unnatural rock formations, jutting from a primordial sea. If a great reptile had risen from it and pressed an eye to the grimy moisture-streaked window it would not have been surprising.

  Without the wall mirrors, the room became even gloomier, for there was no artificial source of light. The baron, framed against the window, hummed to himself, ignoring Hawkmoon.

  From somewhere in the depths of the city a faint distorted cry echoed through the fog and then faded. Baron Meliadus lifted his wolf mask and looked carefully at Hawkmoon, whom he could now barely see. 'Come nearer to the window, my lord,' he said. Hawkmoon moved forward, his feet slipping once or twice on the rugs that partially covered the glass floor.

  'Well,' Meliadus began, 'I have spoken to Baron Kalan, and he reports an enigma, a psyche he can hardly interpret. He said it seemed that some part of it had died. What did it die of? I wonder. Of grief? Of humiliation? Of fear? I had not expected such complications. I had expected to bargain with you man to man, trading something you desired for a service I required of you. While I see no reason not to continue to obtain this service, I am not altogether sure, now, how to go about it. Would you consider a bargain, my lord Duke?'

  'What do you propose?' Hawkmoon stared beyond the baron, through the window at the darkening sky.

  'You have heard of Count Brass, the old hero?'

  'Yes.'

  'He is now Lord Guardian, Protector of the Province of the Kamarg.'

  'I have heard that.'

  'He has proved stubborn in opposing the will of the King-Emperor, he has insulted Granbretan. We wish to encourage wisdom in him. The way to do this will be to capture his daughter, who is dear to him, and bring her to Granbretan as a hostage. However, he would trust no emissary that we sent nor any common stranger - but he must have heard of your exploits at the Battle of Koln and doubtless sympathizes with you. If you were to go to the Kamarg seeking sanctuary from the Empire of Granbretan, he would almost certainly welcome you. Once within his walls, it would not be too difficult for a man of your resourcefulness to pick the right moment, abduct the girl, bring her back to us. Beyond the borders of the Kamarg we should, naturally, be able to give you plenty of support. The Kamarg is a small territory. You could easily escape.'

  'That is what you desire of me?'

  'Just so. In return we give you back your estates to rule as you please so long as you take no part against the Dark Empire, whether in word or deed.'

  'My people live in misery under Granbretan,' Hawkmoon said suddenly, as if in revelation. He spoke without passion but rather like one making an abstract moral decision. 'It would be better for them if I ruled them.'

  'Ah!' Baron Meliadus smiled. 'So my bargain does seem reasonable!'

  Yes, though I do not believe you will keep your part of it.'

  'Why not? It is essentially to our advantage if a troublesome state can be ruled by someone whom it trusts - and whom we may trust also.'

  "I will go to the Kamarg. I will tell them the tale you suggest. I will capture the girl and bring her to Granbretan.' Hawkmoon sighed and looked at Baron Meliadus. 'Why not?'

  Discomfited by the strangeness of Hawkmoon's manner, unused to dealing with such a personality, Meliadus frowned. 'We cannot be absolutely sure that you are not indulging in some complex form of deceit to trick us into releasing you. Although the mentality machine is infallible in the case of all other subjects who have been tested by it, it could be that you are aware of some secret sorcery that confuses it.'

  'I know nothing of sorcery.'

  'So I believe - almost.' Baron Meliadus's tone became somewhat cheerful. 'But we have no need to fear — there is an excellent precaution we can take against any treachery from you. A precaution that will bring you back to us or kill you if we have reason no longer to trust you. It is a device recently discovered by Baron Kalan, though I understand it is not his original invention. It is called the Black Jewel. You will be supplied with it tomorrow. Tonight you will sleep in apartments prepared for you in the palace. Before you leave you will have the honour of being presented to His Majesty the King-Emperor. Few foreigners are granted so much.'

  With that, Meliadus called to the insect-masked guards and ordered them to escort Hawkmoon to his quarters.

  3

  The Black Jewel

  Next morning, Dorian Hawkmoon was taken to see Baron Kalan again. The serpent mask seemed to bear an almost cynical expression as it regarded him, but the baron said hardly a word, merely led him through a series of rooms and halls until they reached a room with a door of plain steel. This was opened, to reveal a similar door that, when opened, revealed a third door. This led into a small, blindingly lighted chamber of white metal that contained a machine of intense beauty. It consisted almost entirely of delicate red, gold, and silver webs, strands of which brushed Hawkmoon's face and had the warmth and vitality of human skin. Faint music came from the webs, which moved as if in a breeze.

  'It seems alive,' said Hawkmoon.

  'It is alive,' Baron Kalan whispered proudly. 'It is alive.'

  'Is it a beast?'

  'No. It is the creation of sorcery. I am not even sure what it is. I built it according to the instructions of a grimoire I bought from an Easterner many years ago. It is the machine of the Black Jewel. Ah, and soon you will become much more intimately acquainted with it, lord Duke.'

  Deep within him, Hawkmoon felt a faint stirring of panic, but it did not begin to rise to the surface of his mind. He let the strands of red and gold and silver caress him.

  'It is not complete,' Kalan said. 'It must spin the Jewel. Move closer to it, my lord. Move in to it. You will feel no pain, I guarantee. It
must spin the Black Jewel.'

  Hawkmoon obeyed the baron, and the webs rustled and began to sing. His ears became confounded, the traceries of red, gold, and silver confused his eyes. The machine of the Black Jewel fondled him, seemed to enter him, become him and he it. He sighed, and his voice was the music of the webs; he moved and his limbs were tenuous strands.

  There was pressure from within his skull, and he felt a sense of absolute warmth and softness suffuse his body. He drifted as if bodiless and lost the sense of passing time, but he knew that the machine was spinning something from its own substance, making something that became hard and dense and implanted itself in his forehead so that suddenly he seemed to possess a third eye and stared out at the world with a new kind of vision. Then gradually this faded and he was looking at Baron Kalan, who had removed his mask, the better to regard him.

  Hawkmoon felt a sudden sharp pain in his head. The pain vanished almost at once. He looked back at the machine, but its colours had dulled and its webs seemed to have shrunk. He lifted a hand to his forehead and felt with a shock something there that had not been there before. It was hard and smooth. It was part of him. He shuddered.

  Baron Kalan looked concerned. 'Eh? You are not mad, are you? I was sure of success! You are not mad?'

  'I am not mad,' Hawkmoon said. 'But I think that I am afraid.'

  'You will become accustomed to the Jewel.'

  'That is what is in my head? The Jewel?'

  'Aye. The Black Jewel. Wait.' Kalan turned and drew aside a curtain of scarlet velvet, revealing a flat oval of milky quartz about two feet long. In it, a picture began to form. Hawkmoon saw that the picture was that of Kalan staring into the quartz oval, into infinity. The screen revealed exactly what Hawkmoon saw. As he turned his head slightly, the picture altered accordingly.

  Kalan muttered in delight. 'It works, you see. What you perceive, the Jewel perceives. Wherever you go we shall be able to see everything and everyone you encounter.'

  Hawkmoon tried to speak, but he could not. His throat was tight, and there seemed to be something constricting his lungs. Again he touched the warm Jewel, so similar to flesh in texture, but so unlike it in every other way.

  'What have you done to me?' he asked eventually, his tone as flat as ever.

  'We have merely secured your loyalty,' chuckled Kalan. 'You have taken part of the life of the machine. Should we so desire, we can give all the machine's life to the Jewel, and then ...'

  Hawkmoon reached out stiffly and touched the baron's arm. 'What will it do?'

  'It will eat your brain, Duke of Koln.'

  Baron Meliadus hurried Dorian Hawkmoon through the glittering passages of the palace. Now Hawkmoon had a sword at his side and a suit of clothes and mail much like those he had worn at the Battle of Koln. He was conscious of the Jewel in his skull but of little else. The passages widened until they covered the area of a good-sized street. Guards in the masks of the Order of the Mantis were thick along the walls. Mighty doors, a mass of jewels making mosaic patterns, towered ahead of them.

  'The throne room,' murmured the baron. 'Now the King-Emperor will inspect you.'

  Slowly the doors moved open, to reveal the glory of the throne room. It blazed, half-blinding Hawkmoon with its magnificence. There was glitter and music; from a dozen galleries that rose to the concave roof were draped the shimmering banners of five hundred of Granbretan s noblest families. Lining the walls and galleries, rigid with their flame-lances at the salute, were the soldiers of the Order of the Mantis in their insect-masks and their plate armour of black, green, and gold. Behind them, in a multitude of different masks and a profusion of rich clothing, were the courtiers. They peered curiously at Meliadus and Hawkmoon as they entered.

  The lines of soldiers stretched into the distance. There, at the end of the hall, almost out of sight, hung something that Hawkmoon could not at first make out. He frowned. 'The Throne Globe,'whispered Meliadus. 'Now do as I do.' He began to pace forward.

  The walls ol the throne room were of lustrous green and purple, but the colours of the banners ranged the spectrum, as did the fabrics, metals, and precious gems that the courtiers wore. But Hawkmoon's eyes were fixed on the globe.

  Dwarfed by the proportions of the throne room, Hawkmoon and Meliadus walked with measured pace toward the Throne Globe while fanfares were played by trumpeters in the galleries to left and right.

  Eventually Hawkmoon could see the Throne Globe, and he was astonished. It contained a milky-white fluid that surged about sluggishly, almost hypnotically. At times the fluid seemed to contain iridescent radiance that would gradually fade and then return. In the centre of this fluid, reminding Hawkmoon of a foetus, drifted an ancient man, his skin wrinkled, his limbs apparently useless, his head overlarge. From this head stared sharp, malicious eyes.

  Following Meliadus's example, Hawkmoon abased himself before the creature.

  'Rise,' came a voice. Hawkmoon realized with a shock that the voice came from the globe. It was the voice of a young man in the prime of health - a golden voice, a melodic, vibrant voice. Hawkmoon wondered from what youthful throat the voice had been torn.

  'King-Emperor, I present Dorian Hawkmoon, Duke von Koln, who has elected to perform an errand for us. You'll remember, noble sire, that I mentioned my plan to you . . .' Meliadus bowed as he spoke.

  'We go to much effort and considerable ingenuity to secure the services of this Count Brass,' came the golden voice. 'We trust your judgment is sound in this matter, Baron Meliadus.'

  'You have reason to trust me on the strength of my past deeds, Great Majesty,' Meliadus said, again bowing.

  'Has the Duke von Koln been warned of the inevitable penalty he will pay if he does not serve us loyally?' came the youthful, sardonic voice. 'Has he been told that we may destroy him in an instant, from any distance?'

  Meliadus stroked his sleeve. 'He has, Mighty King-Emperor. '

  'You have informed him that the Jewel in his skull,' continued the voice with relish, 'sees all that he sees and shows it to us in the chamber of the machine of the Black Jewel?

  'Aye, Noble Monarch.'

  'And you have made it clear to him that should he show any signs of betraying us - any slight sign, which we may easily detect by watching through his eyes the faces of those he speaks to — we shall give the Jewel its full life? We shall release all the energy of the machine into its sibling. Have you told him. Baron Meliadus, that the Jewel, possessed of its full life, will then eat its way through his brain, devour his mind, and turn him into a drooling, mindless creature?'

  'In essence, Great Emperor, he has been so informed.'

  The thing in the Throne Globe chuckled. 'By the look of him, Baron, the threat of mindlessness is no threat at all. Are you sure he's not already possessed of the Jewel's full life?'

  'It is his character to seem thus, Immortal Ruler.'

  Now the eyes turned to peer into those of Dorian Hawkmoon, and the sardonic, golden voice issued from the infinitely aged throat.

  'You have contracted a bargain, Duke von Koln, with the immortal King-Emperor of Granbretan. It is a testament to our liberality that we should offer such a bargain to one who is, after all, our slave. You must serve us, in turn, with great loyalty, knowing that you share a part in the destiny of the greatest race ever to emerge on this planet. It is our right to rule the earth, by virtue of our omniscient intellect and omnipotent might, and soon we shall claim this right in full. All who help serve our noble purpose will receive our approval. Go now, Duke, and win that approval.'

  The wizened head turned, and a prehensile tongue flickered from the mouth to touch a tiny jewel that drifted near the wall of the Throne Globe. The globe began to dim until the foetuslike shape of the King-Emperor, last and immortal descendant of a dynasty founded almost three thousand years before, appeared for a few moments in silhouette. 'And remember the power of the Black Jewel,' said the youthful voice before the globe took on the appearance of a solid, dull black sphere.


  The audience was ended. Abasing themselves, Meliadus and Hawkmoon backed away a few paces and then turned to walk from the throne room. And the audience had served a purpose not anticipated by the baron or his master. Within Hawkmoon's strange mind, in its most hidden depths, a tiny irritation had begun; and the irritation was caused not by the Black Jewel that lay embedded in his forehead, but by a less tangible source.

  Perhaps the irritation was a sign of Hawkmoon's humanity returning. Perhaps it marked the growing of a new and altogether different quality; perhaps it was the influence of the Runestaff .

  4

  Journey to Castle Brass

  Dorian Hawkmoon was returned to bis original apartments in the prison catacombs and there waited for two days until Baron Meliadus arrived, bearing with him a suit of black leather, complete with boots and gauntlets, a heavy black cloak with a cowl, a silver-hilted broadsword in a black leather scabbard, simply decorated with silver, and a black helmet-mask wrought in the likeness of a snarling wolf. The clothes and equipment were evidently modelled on Meliadus s own.

  'Your tale, on reaching Castle Brass,' Meliadus began, 'will be a fine one. You were made prisoner by myself and managed, with the aid of a slave, to drug me and pose as me. In this disguise you crossed Granbretan and all the provinces she controls before Meliadus recovered from the drug. A simple story is the best, and this one serves not only to answer how you came to escape from Granbretan, but also to elevate you in the eyes of those who hate me.'

  'I understand,' Hawkmoon said, fingering the heavy black jacket. 'But how is the Black Jewel explained?'

  'You were to be the subject of some experiment of mine but escaped before any serious harm could be done to you. Tell the story well, Hawkmoon, for your safety will depend on it. We shall be watching the reaction of Count Brass -and particularly that wily rhyme maker Bowgentle. Though we shall be unable to hear what you say, we can read lips well enough. Any sign of betrayal on your part -and we give the Jewel its full life.'