Chapter 55 Chapter One

On the sea of ​​grass, the sun rises in the east, that scene is really beautiful.The consul stood on the top of the poop deck and watched all this.After he finished his post, he planned to have a good sleep, but he couldn't sleep, so he had to give up.He climbed onto the deck and watched the night fade away and day come.The low clouds at the front of the storm covered the sky, and the whole world was lit by the rising sun, reflecting brilliant golden light above and below.The sails, ropes, and weathered decks of wind-powered carriers were blessed with a fleeting moment of light.A few minutes later, the sun was blocked by the clouds on the zenith, and the colors flooded out of this world again.The cold wind followed the darkness and blew up.They seemed to have been blown from the snowy peaks of the Bridle Range, which now loomed as a black smear on the northeast horizon.

Braun Lamia and Martin Silenus walked together to the aft deck where the consul was, each holding a cup of coffee that must have been brewed in the galley.The cold wind whistled against the rigging.Braun Lamia's thick curls fluttered over her face like black clouds. "Good morning." Silenas whispered, drinking his coffee but squinting at the sea of ​​grass that was blown by the wind. "Good morning," replied the Consul, amazed that he had been so alert and refreshed after a sleepless night. "We are sailing against the wind, but the time of the transport ship is very accurate. We will definitely reach the mountains before dusk."

"Ho," Silenas commented, nose buried in the coffee cup. "I didn't sleep last night," Braun Lamia said. "I kept thinking about the Wentborough story." "I don't think . . . " began the poet, then snapped shut, and Wentborough was already on deck, his little baby lying in its crib, looking out. "Good morning, everyone," said Winterberg, looking around, and taking a deep breath, "Well, it's cool, isn't it?" "It's fucking cold," Silenus said. "It's got to be even colder up north." "I think I'll have to go down and put on a jacket," Lamia said, but before she moved, a scream came from below. "Blood!!"

Really, there's blood everywhere.Het Masteen's cabin was uncomfortably tidy--the bed was unsleeped, the quilt was squarely folded, the suitcases and other small boxes were piled in the corner, the robes were folded and placed on the chairs superior. Everything was in order, except for the mess of blood, which was spilled on the deck, on the bulkheads, and on the ceiling.Six pilgrims crowded the doorway, unwilling to go in. "I was walking up the deck just now," said Father Hoyt, in a rather strange voice without any ups and downs. "The door was slightly ajar. I caught a glimpse through the crack of the door...the blood on the wall"

"Is it really blood?" Martin Silenus asked. Braun Lamia walked into the room, touched a large smear of blood on the bulkhead, and put his finger to his mouth. "It's blood." She looked around, walked to the closet, glanced at the empty shelves and hangers, and then walked to the small porthole.The windows are bolted inside. Rainer Hoyt, looking more ill than usual, staggered to a chair. "Then he died?" "We don't know a damn thing except two things, which are: one, Captain Masteen isn't in the room, and two, there's a big pool of blood," Lamia said.She wiped her hands on her trouser legs. "Now, we must search the ship well."

"Exactly," said Colonel Kassad, "but what if the captain can't be found?" Braun Lamia opened the porthole.The fresh air drove away the bloody slaughterhouse smell, bringing the rumble of wheels and the rustle of grass under the boat. "If we don't find Captain Masteen," she said, "we can assume that he left the ship either voluntarily or by force." "But there's blood... Father Hoyt said. "Blood proves nothing," Kassad finished for him. "Ms. Lamia was right. We don't know Masteen's blood type, nor his genotype. Has anyone seen or Did you hear something?"

Silence, except for a negative grunt and a shake of the head. Martin Silenus looked around. "Do you people feel that this is the masterpiece of our Shrike friend?" "We don't know," Lamia snapped. "Maybe someone was trying to make us think the Shrike did it." "It doesn't make any sense," said Hoyt, still gasping for breath. "Anyway," Lamia said, "we've got to search right away. Who else has a weapon but me?" "I have," said Colonel Kassad, "and I have plenty more if need be." "No," Hoyt said.

The poet shook his head. Sol Winterberg returned to the tunnel with his children.Now he looked in again. "I have nothing," he said. "No," said the Consul.Two hours before dawn, after his sentry, he had returned the death stick to Kassad. "Okay," said Lamia, "the priest and I search the lower deck. Silenus, you and the master search the middle deck. Mr. Winterberg, you and the consul check everything up there. See what's there Something is wrong. Look for signs of a fight." "There's a question," Silenas said. "what?"

"Who the hell chose you to be prom queen?" "I'm a private detective," said Lamia, looking straight at the poet. Martin Silenus shrugged. "Our Hoyt is a priest of some forgotten religion. That doesn't mean we're going to kneel and listen to him when he says mass." "Okay," Braun Lamia sighed, "I'll give you a plausible reason." The woman shifted like thunder, in the blink of an eye, and the Consul barely saw how she moved.One second she was standing in the open doorway, the next she was half way through the cabin, lifting Martin Silenus off the deck with just one arm.Her huge hands clamped around the poet's thin neck. "Listen," she said, "how about you do the logical thing, because that's the logical thing?"

"Uh well—" Martin Silenus squeezed out a few words. "Very good." Lamia said coldly, throwing the poet on the deck.Silenus staggered back, almost sitting on Father Hoyt. "Here we come," Kassad returned, carrying two small nerve stunners.He handed one of them to Winterberg. "What do you have?" Kassad asked Lamia. The woman reached into the pocket of her loose coat and drew out an ancient pistol. Kassad stared at the relic for a moment, then nodded. "Stay with your partner," he said, "and don't shoot unless you're sure you saw something and you're sure it was something dangerous."

"That's the bitch I'm going to shoot," Silenus said, still rubbing his neck. Braun Lamia took half a step toward the poet."Shut up," Fedman Kassad said. "We're going to get this over with." Silenus followed the colonel out of the cabin. Sol Winterberg walked up to the consul and handed him the stunner. "I'm holding Rachel, I don't want to hold this thing. Shall we go up?" The Consul took the weapon and nodded. Height Masteen was nowhere to be found, and there was no trace of the saint of the Voice of the Trees in the wind transport.After searching for an hour, everyone reunited in the cabin of the missing man.The blood in the cabin looked blackened and dried. "Is it possible that we missed something?" said Father Hoyt. "Such as a secret passage? Or a hidden compartment?" "Possibly," Kassad said, "but I've checked the ship thoroughly with heat detectors. If there's anything bigger than a rat on board, the detectors will pick it up. But I haven't found anything. " "If you have these detectors," Silenus said, "why the hell did you keep us scrambling under the boat for an hour in the tunnel?" "Because there are some equipment or clothes that can hide people, even if you search for them, it won't help." "So, let me answer my own question," Hoyt said, pausing for a second as a wave of palpable pain washed through his body, "with the right gear or clothing, Maas Captain Tine might be hiding in some secret compartment." "It makes sense in theory, but it's impossible," Braun Lamia said. "I guess... he's not on the ship anymore." "The Shrike," Martin Silenus said with disgust.This is not a problem. "Perhaps," said Lamia, "Colonel, during the four hours that you and the Consul were on guard at night, can you be sure that you heard nothing and saw nothing?" The two nodded. "The ship was very quiet," Kassad said. "I didn't hear a single fight until I went up to stand guard." "I did not fall asleep when I finished my post," said the Consul. "Masteen's room is next to mine. I heard nothing." "Ah," said Silenus, "we have heard the testimony of these two, who walked quietly in the night with weapons, and our poor wretch was killed. They said they were innocent. Next case!" "If Masteen had been killed," Kassad said, "it couldn't have been the death stick. No modern silent weapon that I know of would leave that much blood. We didn't hear the gun." No sound—no bullet holes—so I think Ms. Lamia's automatic pistol is also ruled out. If it was Captain Masteen's blood, then I think the murder weapon was a sharp weapon." "The Shrike is a great weapon," says Martin Silenus. Lamia walked to the small pile of luggage. "Arguing won't solve the problem. Come, let's see what Masteen left behind." Father Hoyt held up a hand hesitantly. "That's... well, personal stuff, isn't it? I don't think we have a right to see it." Braun Lamia folded his arms. "Look, Father, if Masteen is dead, then it doesn't matter to him these things. If he's still alive, a look at his stuff might give us some idea as to what he was Where did he go. Dead or alive, we must find clues." Hoyt was dubious, but nodded anyway.In the end, there really isn't much meddling in private matters.Masteen's first trunk contained only a few replacement linen clothes and a copy of Muir's Book of Life.The second bag contained a hundred packets of sorted seeds that had been quick-dried and were now nestled in the wet soil. "Saints must be descendants of at least one hundred trees of eternity planted no matter what world they go to," the consul explained. "Seeds rarely germinate. But this is a ritual." Braun Lamia bumped toward the large metal box, which sat beneath the pile. "Don't touch that thing!" the Consul yelled. "Why can't you touch it?" "It's a Möbius cube," Colonel Kassad replied, acting as the consul. "A carbon, carbon shell surrounded by a zero-impedance containment field." "Then what?" Lamia asked. "The Möbius cube can contain prehistoric artifacts and other things inside. They won't explode or anything else will happen." "Of course not," the Consul admitted, "but the contents of it may explode. If it does, it probably has." "A cube as large as this could contain a thousand tons of controlled nuclear bombs, and they would be safe within a nanosecond of ignition if they were contained in this box," adds Feldman-Kassad. Lamia glared at the box. "Then how do we know if the contents killed Masteen?" Kassad pointed to the case's only seam, which had a shimmering green palladium sash. "The box is sealed. Once unsealed, if you want to activate the Moebius cube again, you have to take it to a place that can generate a concealed field. So, no matter what is inside, it didn't hurt Masty Captain En." "Then there's no way to figure it out?" Lamia mused. "I have a good guess," said the Consul. The others stared at him.Rachel started crying, and Saul got a strip of trousers out of the nursery bag. "Remember," said the Consul, "at the Frontier yesterday, Mr. Masteen saw the thing in the cube as a savior? He mentioned it like it was a secret weapon, didn't he?" "Weapons in there?" Lamia said. "Of course!" Kassad said suddenly, "That's an erg!" "Erg?" Martin Silenas stared at the small box, "I thought Erg was a force field creature used by the saints on the giant tree ship." "Indeed," said the Consul, "these creatures were discovered three centuries ago on an asteroid near Aldebaran. Their bodies are about the size of a cat's spine, and most of them have piezoelectric nervous systems. subchondral, but they are powered by force fields and can manipulate them, even large force fields generated by small gyratory craft." "So, how do you fit all this into this tiny box?" Silenas asked, eyes fixed on the Möbius cube. "Mirror image?" "In a sense," Kassad replied, "the field energy of this thing can be reduced...it can stop eating, but it won't starve to death. It's kind of like our frozen sleep. Besides, it's definitely It's a little thing. It's a cub, so to speak." Lamia stroked the metal casing. "Can the Saints control these things? Communicate with them?" "Yes," Kassad said, "nobody knows how they do it. It's one of the Brotherhood's secrets. But Het Masteen must be well aware that Erg can help him with... " "The Shrike," Martin Silenus concluded for him, "the saint felt that this energy pixie would be his secret weapon when he faced the Lord of Mourning." The bard laughed wildly. Father Hoyt cleared his throat. "The church accepts the judgment of the Overlord...these creatures...ergs...are not sentient beings...and therefore cannot be candidates for a savior." "Oh, they are conscious, they are, Father," said the Consul. "Their comprehension is higher than we think. But if you're talking about intelligent life...self-knowing life...then you're communicating with intelligent grasshoppers. Can grasshoppers be candidates for savior?" Hoyt said nothing.Braun Lamia said, "Ah, Captain Masteen apparently thought this thing was going to be his saviour. But something went wrong." trace. "Let's go out." The storm was coming from the northeast, and it was getting stronger and stronger, and the wind transport ship began to fight the wind.Ragged white clouds raced under the low gray roof of the storm front.The cold wind blows, the grass whips each other, and is bent over by the pressure.Twisting bolts of lightning illuminated the horizon, followed by torrents of thunder, like bullets fired at the bow of a wind-powered transport ship, sounding a warning.The pilgrims watched in silence until the first burst of icy rain drove them into the great hold at the stern below. "Found it in the pocket of his robe," said Braun Lamia, taking out a slip of paper with "5" written on it. "So Masteen would have been the next storyteller," the Consul muttered. Martin Silenus sat in a chair with his legs up, his back touching the high window.Thunderbolt reflected his perverted face, and he really looked like a demon. "Another possibility," he said, "is that some one who has not yet told the story draws the fifth lot and kills the saint and exchanges notes with him." Lamia stared at the poet. "That's me and the consul," she said, quite calmly. Silena shrugged. Braun Lamia pulled another paper from her coat. "I drew number six. What can I achieve? It's not my turn." "Maybe, then, it's what Masteen is about to say that he can't say," said the poet.He shrugged again. "Personally, I think the Shrike has already started killing us. Why do we think we've reached the Tomb of Light? This thing can now run half the distance from here to Keats, and has already Begin its killing." "It's not like any other kill," Saul Winterburo said. "It's a Shrike Pilgrimage." "So what about the Shrike's pilgrimage?" Everyone was silent, and the consul went to the window.The gust of wind and strong rain covered the sea of ​​grass, and the raindrops hit the window panes inlaid with lead strips, making a pattering sound.The transport truck began to tackle the wind again, creaking, and the vehicle lurched violently to starboard. "Ms. Lamia," Colonel Kassad asked, "do you think it's okay to tell a story now?" Lamia folded her arms and stared at the windowpane, where streaks of rain glistened. "No. Wait until we get off this damn ship. It stinks of dead people everywhere."