Prison of Night

Men with medical skill, with medicines and drugs to heal and to ease pain, with arts to end the torment of the dying. Neutral friends, if nothing else and, always, they could be trusted.

And yet?

Gartok was a mercenary, shrewd, hard, selfish. And he had been almost the last man to see the old monk alive.

"You are kind, brother, but is there nothing else? Some personal regard, perhaps?"

Gartok shrugged. "You look for what isn't there, monk. I didn't know the old man. We spoke, exchanged a few words, a little news, and that is all. But another, years ago, as old, did me a service once. In fact he saved my life. Call my attendance here a belated tribute to that man." Turning he faced the doors behind which blazed the flame and, again, saluted. "Farewell, brother. May you find the peace you lived to teach." And then, oddly, added, "May we all find it."

The church never closed and, day or night, always someone was waiting to unburden themselves or to gain a little comfort. The sick too needed attention, mothers with babies covered in sores, older children with eyes thick with pus, themselves asking help and advice in order to avoid further pregnancies. Help and advice which was never refused.

It was dark by the time Veac had finished his duties, rising from a sick man to ease the ache in his back, looking down at the face now relaxed, the eyelids covering the eyes which flickered a little beneath the lids. One leg had been crushed, the wounds infected, suppurating, stinking with putrescence. The body burned with fever. A hospital could have taken care of the man, any competent doctor, but both would have asked for payment assured or in advance. The aid given by the monks was free.

"Brother!" Audin was a new arrival, young, fresh, eager to serve. "I am to relieve you. Do you have any special instructions as to the patients?"

"The man at the end of the first row is in extremis. He will most probably die before dawn. The woman in the second row is close to crisis so make sure that she is not alone for long. This man," he looked down at the figure, "is happy enough for the moment. I've given him subjective suggestion and will reenforce it later. Now we can do nothing but ease his pain and allow the drugs to do their work. Brother Biul?"

"Is waiting for you with Brother Thotan."

He was a big man, wide shoulders filling his robe, his head a naked ball, his hands holding the strength of a vice. A man who fought injustice and the ills of the universe as if they were personal enemies. The answer to all who considered the Church to be weak and helpless, those who thought monks to be cringing effeminates. Only his voice was soft and even then iron lurked beneath the gentle tones.

"I have completed my examination of your reports and findings and must admit there is no doubt as to the cause of Eldon's death. He was murdered. A poison was injected into his hand, probably by a sharpened fingernail or some instrument incorporating a hollow needle."

Veac said, boldly, "Wouldn't he have felt the pain?"

For a moment Thotan stared at the young monk, his eyes sunken in pits beneath his brows, the brown flecked with emerald, the white tinged with yellow.

"A good question, brother. Never be afraid to ask questions-how else can you find answers? Why didn't he feel pain when injected? Two reasons. One is that he simply didn't feel it. He could have been exposed to the cold for too long, his flesh numbed and unresponsive, or the instrument used could have been loaded with an anesthetic." His voice hardened as his finger stabbed at Veac. "The other?"

"He felt it but didn't comment. A jagged fingernail could have caused it or a broken button and, as you say, his hand must have been chilled." Hesitating Veac added, "The puncture was in the fleshy part of the palm. It is relatively insensitive to pain."

"And to anything else." Thotan nodded his satisfaction. "You have a sharp mind, brother, cultivate it. It could lead you far."

To a large church of his own, perhaps. To residence in a city where he would counsel the rich and influential. To Pace which held the second largest seminary of the Church, even to Hope which was the heart and fountainhead of the Universal Brotherhood. The world on which the High Monk was to be found, the records, the schools of training, the statues and adornments which generations of those who loved and worked for the objectives of the Church had built and donated.

Then he blinked, conscious of the sharp stare of the probing eyes. Could Thotan, as Biul had seemed to demonstrate, read minds? Telepathy was not unknown though those who held the talent paid for it in one way or another usually with physical malfunctions. Was the bulk all bone and muscle or the growth of wild cells? Was the head shaved or naturally bald.

Had the comment and praise, so casually uttered, been a test?