The burden of the argument, as Kasimir had by now determined, was twofold; first, whether or not the sculptor was going to meet his deadline for finishing his work in this room and clearing out of it so it could be returned to its original intended purpose of a gambling casino; and secondly, what was going to happen if he failed to meet the deadline. The deadline was the first day of the Festival- Kasimir had recently heard that mentioned in another connection-and for several reasons it was very important to the Red Temple that all the statues be finished and in place by then, and the gambling tables be opened.
The artist, while listening-or perhaps refusing to listen-to these arguments, went on in a coolly professional way about his business, inspecting one nude prospective model after another as they appeared upon their little sets of elevated stands, male on one side of the center of the room and female on the other. Most of the models were rejected as quickly and decisively as were the protests of the priest, with quick, curt gestures and a few well-chosen words.
And still the argument between the two men went on, the priest trying to convince the artist that it was all very well to be a perfectionist and have artistic scruples, but right here and now the important idea was to produce the contracted number and type of statues, so that the grand official reopening of the remodeled temple could go on as scheduled, in time with the Festival.
The blond man sneered over his shoulder. “You mean so that the passersby in the square will stop having doubts as to whether you’re completely open for business, and will rush in to spend their money without hesitation.”
It was not that at all, said the man in black and red, outraged at being thrown momentarily upon the defensive-it was important that the consciousness of all the people be awakened to their full sensuous potential!
Meanwhile, another model had just stepped up on a recently vacated stand, where she attracted Kasimir’s attention. She was a graceful young woman, really only a girl he thought, not yet out of her teens. Her face was unprepossessing and her hair, worn in awkward braids, the approximate color of used wash water. But her body was striking, tall and strong without being either fat or in the least unfeminine, and he found himself immediately distracted from trying to follow the argument, or even thinking about the Sword.
Kasimir’s appreciative gaze was at once tempered with sympathy; even worse, he supposed, than having everyone in a roomful of people stare at you when you were undressed might be to have the same roomful ignore you almost completely. That was what was happening to the young woman now, and she did indeed look a little faint.
Kasimir was jolted out of his contemplation when one of the many clerks in this room grabbed him by the arm again and hustled him, along with the two men who had been chosen with him, across the floor of the great room and into a small antechamber lined with benches. Here and there on the benches were little piles of clothing.
The clerk snapped orders at them, in the tone of one who enjoyed being able to snap orders. “All three of you, get your clothes off, quick. What are you waiting for? Hurry, hurry!”
“But I’m applying for a job as-”
The clerk was already gone; and anyway, as Kasimir kept reminding himself, the purpose of his coming here was not to defend his dignity or even to get a proper job, but to discover as much as possible about this sculptor and his operations. So, in company with his two rivals, all three of them casting wary looks at one another, Kasimir removed his clothes and piled them on a bench.
In a moment the clerk-or another clerk who looked very much like the first one-was back, to shepherd the three sturdily built men, all now naked as infants, back into the great studio. Here each was urged to mount, like a trained circus beast, on his own small stand. Then they stood there waiting. From his new position of vantage on this modest pedestal Kasimir could get a better look than before into the far recesses of the vast room, and see a little farther into the other end of the shallow L. Over there, right under some windows where the light was particularly good, a number of workers were laboring industriously, chipping and sawing away at blocks that were not statues but doubtless would be part of the stonework out on the facade. Kasimir saw no indication that any of those workers were using magic tools.
Glancing back in the direction of the other set of little pedestals, he saw that the young woman who had attracted his attention was now gone, her place occupied by another, more voluptuous, more classically beautiful, but somehow less interesting.
And the argument was over, or at least in abeyance. The Chief Priest had retired, as if between rounds of a contest, into a far corner of the room, where he was now in conference with other red-clad figures. But his opponent was not resting. In another moment the domineering sculptor was standing directly in front of Kasimir, staring at his body with wildly urgent and yet abstracted eyes, as if Kasimir were a piece of stone that might or might not be of just the proper size and shape to meet some emergency need. It came to Kasimir suddenly that he had seen physicians who looked at their patients in a very similar way. He hoped he would never be one of them.
The sculptor, having examined Kasimir’s physique from hair to toes, at last stared him straight in the eye.
“Who are you?” the artist demanded.
Kasimir gave his name, though not his profession. But to be snapped at in this discourteous way was very irritating. “Who are you?” he demanded right back.
One of the sculptor’s assistants, hurrying after the great man with a scroll of notes and a pen, blanched when he heard that. But the artist himself accepted the question-as if it would take a lot more than an uppity model to upset him.
“I am Robert de Borron,” he replied in a cold voice. “And this is my work you see all around you. I see no reason to believe that you are going to fit into it.”
With a jerk of his head the artist signaled to his aides that Kasimir should be removed. In a moment the physician found himself making his way back to the dressing room, still naked amid a throng of indifferent people.
His clothing and his small medical kit lay on the bench just where he had left them, apparently untouched. He had begun to worry that his modest purse would be stolen, or perhaps some of the drugs taken from his kit. But apparently he need not have worried. Maybe the folk who worked in an artist’s studio-or who wanted to work here-needed no other drug than the hectic conditions of their employment.
Kasimir dressed quickly. He supposed he could now return to the second-floor personnel office, and try to convince someone there that he was really applying for a physician’s job. But he felt a need to regroup mentally, to get out of the temple for a while, before he tried again. Then in an hour or less he would come back.
Kasimir had just stepped out of the front entrance of the temple, under a sky whose gradually growing promise of rain was beginning to come true, when he caught sight again of the strongly built and graceful young lady with the faded braids. She was sitting on a bench not far from the front entrance, and she did not look well.
Perhaps she was poor and hungry-her blouse and trousers looked rather shabby-or perhaps the experience of posing in the nude had been too much for her. In a moment Kasimir had stopped beside her.
CHAPTER 6
“IF I may intrude for a moment upon your thoughts? I A am a physician, and you do not look well. Can I assist you in any way?”
“Oh.” The young woman sitting on the bench turned up her face to Kasimir. Again he was struck by the plainness of her face. But her greenish eyes, seen at such close range, were unexpectedly impressive.
Her voice had an intriguing quality too, low and throaty. “It’s a long story. But I expect I’ll be all right.” Then she frowned. “Didn’t I just see you somewhere inside the temple?”
“No doubt you did, I was looking for a job. I noticed you in there too.” Kasimir was about to add that it would have been difficult not to notice her in the circumstances, but he had approached her as a physician, and it was a little too soon to alter that.