The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

What’s my reaction to all this? Well, Paheri’s story makes me want to go see for myself if it’s true or not. If he wasn’t making it up, and Tom says Paheri was as stolid and as unimaginative as a wooden cigarstore Indian, then this world, unlike Earth, may have answers to the Big Questions, a mirror to the Ultimate Reality.

Towerward ho!

40

(Frigate’s letter continued)

There’s more to the story than what Rider told me. I chanced to overhear Frisco and Tex several days ago. They were in the main cabin, and the hatch was open. I had sat down, my back against the cabin, and had lit up a cigar. (Yes, for the nonce, I’ve fallen into the clutches of Ole Devil Nicotine.) I really wasn’t paying much atten­tion to their voices, since I was occupied with thoughts resulting from a conversation with Nur el-Musafir.

Then I heard the captain, who has a loud voice, say, “Yes, but how do we know he isn’t using us for some reason of his own? Some reason beneficial to him but not so good for us? And how do we know we can get into the tower? That Egyptian couldn’t. Is there another entrance? If there is, why didn’t he tell us? He did say he’d tell us more about the tower later on. But that was sixteen years ago! Sixteen! We ain’t seen him since!

“I mean, you ain’t seen him. Of course, I never did see him. Anyway, maybe something happened to him. Maybe he got caught. Or maybe he doesn’t need us anymore!”

Rider said something I couldn’t catch. Farrington said, “Sure, but you know what I think? I think he didn’t have the slightest idea those Egyptians got to the tower. Or that one got away. At least, not when he talked to you.”

Rider said something. Farrington replied, “The tunnel and the rope and the boats and probably the path must have been prepared for us. But others got there first.”

The wind strengthened then, and I couldn’t hear anything for a minute or two. I moved closer to the companionway well. Farring­ton said, “You really think some of them, one, anyway, might be on this ship? Well, it’s possible, Tex, but so what if it is?

“Why weren’t we told who the others were so we could recog­nize each other and get together? When are we going to be told? Where do we all meet? At River’s end? What if we get there and nobody shows up? Do we wait a hundred years or so there? What if…”

Rider broke in once more. He must have talked a long time. I was straining my ears, so lit up with curiosity that I almost shone with a sort of St. Elmo’s fire. Mustafa, at the wheel, was looking at me with a strange expression. He must have known, or guessed, that I was eavesdropping. This made me uneasy. I wanted desperately to hear the rest. But if the Turk told those two I’d been listening to them, I might get tossed off the ship. On the other hand, he couldn’t know that they were discussing any thing I shouldn’t be hearing. So I puffed on my cigar, and when it was out, I pretended to fall asleep.

The situation reminded me of Jim Hawkins’ experience in the apple barrel in Treasure Island, when he overheard Long John Silver plotting with his pirate cronies to take over the Hispaniola after the treasure was found. Only, in this case, Farrington and Rider weren’t planning anything evil against anybody at all. They seemed to be more plotted against.

Farrington said, “What I’d like to know is why he needs us? Here’s a man with more power than a dozen gods, and if he’s going against his buddies, what help can he get from mere mortals like us? And if he wants us in the tower, why doesn’t he just ferry us to it?”

There was another interruption, followed by the clink of grail cups against each other. Then Rider spoke loudly. “… must have damn good reasons. Anyway, we’ll find out in time. And what else do we have to do?”