The silver boat drew alongside the huge vessel. Ropes were lowered. Touchstone tied two of them to the prow and stern. Talaban climbed the ladder to the central deck, responded to the salutes of three black-clad Vagar sailors, then strode on towards his cabin.
Once inside he doffed his cloak, unbuckled his sword belt and stood before the brazier of burning coal beneath the stern windows. Holding his hands to the heat he shivered with pleasure. Though he could tolerate it better than most men Talaban hated the cold. The quarter window was open, allowing fresh air into the cabin, and helping alleviate the stink of coal. Talaban gazed longingly at the crystal globes set into the wall. Once these had supplied either heat or light – indeed both if required – for the captain’s cabin, but there was so little power left in the chest that Talaban did not dare activate them. Moving to his desk of polished oak he sat down, enjoying the luxury of the deep, padded chair.
Closing his eyes he thought again of the palace of the Avatar Prime, the burning sun, and the scent of nearby vineyards. Talaban had been happy there for a while, content to work on the maps he had so carefully charted the year before. It was the year that Questor Anu had been stripped of his rank. Talaban had been sent to question him, to decide if he posed a threat to the State.
The inquisition had taken place in Anu’s home on the outskirts of the city. Anu, like all Avatars, eternally youthful, had welcomed him warmly, and they had sat in his garden in the company of a slack-jawed half-wit, who drooled and stared vacantly into space. The half-wit was an Avatar but, because of his condition, was not allowed blue hair or any other badge of rank. Talaban found his presence off-putting. It was made more disturbing by the contrast with Anu. He was a slender man of medium height, his features regular, his expression friendly. Yet there was about him an almost tangible radiance, a sense of unworldliness that was both compelling and unsettling. It was the kind of feeling Talaban experienced when climbing a mountain and looking out over the landscape of the world, a sense of awe and deep humility.
Anu smiled at Talaban’s discomfiture. ‘Why does he disturb you so?’ he asked.
Talaban returned the smile, and decided upon a course of honesty. ‘To be frank, sir, it is because I am here to decide your sanity. It seems curious to be doing so while in the presence of an idiot.’
‘An interesting point for debate, Talaban. What is it that makes a man an idiot? Togen cannot dress himself, and if left to his own devices would probably starve to death. He does not understand politics, and if I sent him to market he would become lost before he reached the first shop. And yet, tell me, Talaban, upon which science is our civilization built?’
‘Mathematics,’ answered the officer.
‘Indeed so. Now here is a riddle for you: Tell me the square root of 4,879,625?’
Before Talaban could even think of a method to supply the answer the half-wit spoke. He did not look up or change his expression. ‘Two thousand two hundred and eight point nine eight seven three two four five four five.’
Anu clapped his hands. ‘And the square root of that, Togen?’
Again the half-wit spoke instantly. ‘Forty-point six nine nine eight.’
‘How does he do that?’ asked Talaban.
‘I have no idea. But he has proved immensely useful to me these last six years. So, is he an idiot or a genius, Talaban?’
‘Apparently he is both. So let us put the question of his sanity aside and examine yours.’
‘As you will.’
‘You are preaching heresy, Questor. How do you justify your actions?’
‘My actions require no justification. But let us return to mathematics. I have studied the science for almost eight hundred years. Through it I have helped the Avatar to achieve greatness through architecture, travel and commerce.’
‘No one is disputing that, Questor. I have used your star maps myself on my journeys. But that is not the point at issue.’