The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

‘ “London has a tiger-aura, too. So you must convince him to go with you. Tell him that I will see both of you again, and then he will believe. And you two will learn more of what this is all about.’

“He rose, and he said, ‘Until then.’

“I watched him as another flash of lightning outlined his dark figure, the cloak, and the globe. I was wondering if I was crazy. I tried to get up but couldn’t. After about half an hour, the paralysis wore off, and I went outside. The storm was over then, the clouds were starting to break up. But I couldn’t see any sign of him.”

Martin took up the story. Tom had come to him the next evening and made him promise to keep silent about what he was going to tell him. Martin did not know whether or not to believe him. What convinced him that he was not lying was that there was no reason for Tom to make up such a fantastic tale.

The incident had happened, but was it a hoax by some unknown party?

Tom thought about that and men wondered if perhaps London himself was the stranger, playing a joke on him. They soon realized that neither they nor anybody else they knew could have had the glass globe or the instrument he’d used. And how could anybody fake that blazing aura?

The Frisco Kid was getting itchy, anyway. He liked the idea of building a sailboat and going on. Whatever the story was, true or not, it gave him an incentive, a meaning to life. Tom felt the same way. The Tower became for them a sort of Holy Grail.

“I felt kind of lousy leaving Howardine without a word. The Kid wasn’t getting along too well with his woman, a tall plain jane with a chip on her shoulder-I don’t know what he ever saw in her-so he had no regrets about leaving,

“We scooted on up-River for a couple of hundred stones, and then we started to build our schooner. Nur came along and helped us build it. He’s the only original member of the crew still with us.”

Tom, holding his finger to his lips, walked softly to the door. His ear against it, he listened for a moment. Then he yanked it open.

The little Moor, Nur el-Musafir, was standing by the door.

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Nur did not seem startled or afraid. He said, in english, “May I come in?”

“Damn right you will!” Tom roared. He did not offer to drag him in, however. Something about the dark little man promised dire results if he were attacked.

Nur entered. Farrington, glowering, was on his feet.

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?” Tom said.

“Because, when you three went to the ship, I could tell from your expressions that something was wrong. Peter was in danger.”

“Thanks, Nur,” Frigate said.

Tom Rider closed the door. Martin said, “I need another drink.”

Nur sat down upon the top of a cabinet. Martin downed two shots of whiskey. Tom said, “You heard everything?”

Nur nodded.

Martin shouted, “We might as well stand on a deck with a megaphone and tell the whole world!”

Tom said, “For Chrissakes! Now we got another problem on our hands!”

“There’s no more need to kill me than there was to kill Peter,” Nur said. He removed a cigar from his shoulderbag and lit it.

“I overheard your women saying they’d be coming back soon. We don’t have much time.”

“He’s a cool one, ain’t he?” Tom said to Martin.

“Like an experienced agent.”

Nur laughed, and he said, “No. More like one who’s been chosen by an Ethical!”

Nur said, “You may well stare. But you should have wondered a long time ago why I joined you from the beginning and have stuck with you through such a wearying journey.”

Martin and Tom both opened their mouths.

Nur said, “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. If I were an agent, I’d pretend to be one of the Etnicals’ recruits. Believe me, I am not an agent.”

“How do we know you’re not? Can you prove it?”

“How do I know you two aren’t agents? Can you prove it?”