Atlantis And Other Places Part 27

"Er, well, despite that, we have it in England, as well," Walton said. "But we don't construe it to mean freedom to slaughter your fellow man in the name of your creed."

"Nor do we," La Strada said. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be trying to stop it, now would we?" He seemed to feel he'd proved some sort of point.

"Perhaps the best way to go about it would be to arrange for a suitable divine revelation from the Preacher," Helms suggested.

"Yes, that would be the best way-if the Preacher could be persuaded to announce that kind of revelation," La Strada agreed. "If, indeed, the Preacher could be found by anyone not a votary of the House of Universal Devotion."

"Do I correctly infer you have it in mind for me to seek him out and discuss with him the possibility and practicability of such a revelation?" Helms asked.

"You are indeed a formidable detective, Mr. Helms," La Strada said. "Your fee will be formidable, too, should you succeed."

"Do you imagine the magnificent Athelstan Helms can fail?" Dr. Walton inquired indignantly.

"Several here have made the attempt. None has reached the Preacher. None, in fact, has survived," Inspector La Strada answered. "So yes, I can imagine your comrade failing. I do not wish it, but I can imagine it."

"Quite right. Quite right," Helms said. "Imagining all that might go wrong is the best preventive. Now, then-can you tell me where the Preacher is likeliest to be found?"

"Wellll . . ." La Strada stretched the word out to an annoying length. "He's in Atlantis. We're pretty sure of that."

"Capital," Helms said without the least trace of irony. "All that remains, then, is to track him down, eh?"

"I'm sure you'll manage in the next few days." La Strada, by contrast . . .

The Golden Burgher, the hotel into which La Strada had booked Helms and Walton, lay only a few blocks from police headquarters, but might have come from a different world. It would not have seemed out of place in London, though the atmosphere put Dr. Walton more in mind of vulgar ostentation than of the genteel luxury more ideally British. And few British hotels would have had so many spittoons-cuspidors, they seemed to call them here-so prominently placed. The brown stains on the white marble squares of the checkerboard flooring (and, presumably though less prominently, on the black as well) argued that there might have been even more.

The room was unexceptionable. And, when the travelers went down to the restaurant, they found nothing wrong with the saddle of mutton. Walton did bristle when the waiter inquired whether he preferred his meat with mint jelly or with garlic. "Garlic!" he exploded. "D'you take me for an Italian?"

"No, sir," said the waiter, who might have been of that extraction himself. "But some Atlanteans are fond of it."

"I shouldn't wonder," the physician replied, a devastating retort that somehow failed to devastate. His amour propre amour propre ruffled, he added, "I'm not an Atlantean, either, for which I give thanks to the Almighty." ruffled, he added, "I'm not an Atlantean, either, for which I give thanks to the Almighty."

"So does Atlantis, sir." The waiter hurried off.

Walton at first took that to mean Atlantis also thanked G.o.d. Only after noticing a certain gleam in Athelstan Helms' eye did he wonder if the man meant Atlantis thanked G.o.d that he was not an Atlantean. "The cheek of the fellow!" he growled. "Have I been given the glove?"

"A finger from it, at any rate, I should say," Helms told him.

The good doctor intended to speak sharply to the waiter. But he soon made a discovery others had found before him: it was difficult-indeed, next to impossible-to stay angry at a man who was feeding you so well. The mutton, flavorful without being gamy, matched any in England. The mint jelly complemented it marvelously. Potatoes and peas were likewise tasty and well prepared.

"For dessert," the waiter said as a busboy took away dirty plates, "we have several flavors of ice cream made on the premises, we have a plum pudding of which many of our English guests are quite fond, and we also have a local confection: candied heart of cycad with rum sauce." He waited expectantly.

"Plum pudding, by all means," Dr. Walton said.

"I'll try the cycad dessert," Helms said. "Something I'm not likely to find elsewhere." ("And a good thing, too," Walton muttered, his voce voce not quite not quite sotto sotto enough.) enough.) The physician had to admit that his plum pudding, like the mutton, lived up to all reasonable expectations. Athelstan Helms consumed the strange, chewy-looking object on his plate with every sign of enjoyment. When he was nearly finished, he offered Walton a bite.

"Thanks, but no," the physician said. "Stuffed. Quite stuffed. I do believe I'd burst if I picked up the fork again."

"However you please." Helms finished the dessert himself. "Not bad at all. I shouldn't be surprised if what they call rum is also distilled from the cycad, although they do grow considerable sugar down in the south."

He left a meticulous gratuity for the waiter; Walton would have been less generous. They went back up to their room. Dr. Walton struck a match against the sole of his boot and lit the gas lamp.

"I say!" Helms exclaimed. "The plot thickens-so it does. I deduce that someone is not desirous of our company here."

Again, he did not need his richly deserved reputation for detection to arrive at his conclusion. Someone had driven a dagger hilt-deep into the pillow on each bed.

"No, I'm not surprised," Inspector La Strada said. "The House of Universal Devotion casts its web widely here."

"Someone should step on the spider, then, by Jove!" Dr. Walton said.

"Freedom of religion again, I'm afraid," La Strada said. "Our Basic Law guarantees the right to wors.h.i.+p as one pleases and the right not to wors.h.i.+p if one pleases. We find that a more just policy than yours." Yes, he enjoyed scoring points off the mother country.

Dr. Walton was in a high temper, and in a high color as well, his cheeks approaching the hue of red-hot iron. "Where in the Good Book does it say a.s.sa.s.sinating two innocent pillows amounts to a religious observance?"

"What the good doctor means, I believe, is that any faith can use the excuse of acting in G.o.d's cause to perpetrate deeds those more impartial might deem unrighteous," Athelstan Helms said. Walton nodded emphatically enough to set two or three chins wobbling.

"Any liberty can become license-any policeman who's been on the job longer than a week knows as much," La Strada said. "But the Preacher has been going up and down in Atlantis for more than fifty years now. He may have forgotten."

"Going up and down like Satan in the Book of Job," Walton growled. "We need to find the rascal so we can give him a piece of our mind."

The Atlantean inspector s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot. "Well, sir, like I told you last night, finding him's a problem we haven't ciphered out ourselves."

"What then?" Dr. Walton was still in a challenging mood. "Shall we walk into the nearest House of Universal Devotion and ask the hemidemisemipagans pretending to be priests where the devil their precious Preacher is? The devil ought to know, all right." No, he was not a happy man.

Athelstan Helms, by contrast, suddenly looked as happy as his saturnine features would allow. "A capital idea, Doctor! Capital, I say. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we shall do that very thing. Beard the blighters in their den, like." He used the Atlanteanism with what struck Walton as malice, or at least mischief, aforethought.

"You're not serious, Helms?" the doctor burst out.

"I am, sir-serious to the point of solemnity," Helms replied. "What better way to come to know our quarry's henchmen?"

"What better way to end up in an alley with our throats cut?" Dr. Walton said. "I'd lay long odds the blackguards have more knives than the two they wasted on goosedown."

Helms paused long enough to light his pipe, then rounded on La Strada. "What is your view of this, Inspector?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," the policeman said. "I doubt you'd be murdered, not two such famous fellows as you are. They have to know we'd haul their Houses down on top of 'em if they worked that kind of outrage. But I don't reckon you'd learn very much from 'em, either."

"There! D'you see, Helms?" Walton said. "Inspector La Strada's a man of sense."

"By which you mean nothing except that he agrees with you," Helms said placidly. "To the nearest House we shall go."

Hanover had several Houses of Universal Devotion, all of them in poor, even rough, neighborhoods. Devotion was not a faith that appealed to the wealthy, though more than a few Devotees had, through skill and hard work, succeeded in becoming prosperous. "Nothing but a heresy," Dr. Walton grumbled as he and Helms approached a House. "Blacker than Pelagianism. Blacker than Arianism Arianism , by G.o.d, and who would have dreamt it possible?" , by G.o.d, and who would have dreamt it possible?"

"Your intimate acquaintance with creeds outworn no doubt does you credit, Doctor," Helms said. "Here, however, we face a creed emphatically not outworn, and we would do well to remember as much."

The House of Universal Devotion seemed unprepossessing enough, without even a spire to mark it as a church. On the lintel were carved a sun, a crescent moon, several stars, and other, more obscure symbols. "Astrology?" Dr. Walton asked.

"Freemasonry," Helms answered. "There are those who claim the two are one and inseparable, but I cannot agree." His long legs scissored up the stairs two at a time. Walton followed more sedately.

"What do we do if they won't let us in?" Walton inquired.

"Create a disturbance as a ruse, then effect an entrance will they or nill they." Athelstan Helms rather seemed to look forward to the prospect. But when he worked the latch the door swung inward on silent, well-oiled hinges. With a small, half-rueful shrug, he stepped across the threshold, Dr. Walton again at his heels.

Inside, the House of Universal Devotion looked more like a church. There were rows of plain pine pews. There was an altar, with a cross on the wall behind it. If the cross was flanked by the symbols also placed above the entryway, that seemed not so remarkable. I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE was written on the south wall, EVERY MAN HATH G.o.d WITHIN AND MUST LEARN TO SET HIM FREE on the north, both in the same large block capitals.

"I don't recognize that Scriptural quotation," Walton said, nodding toward the slogan on the north wall. In spite of himself, he spoke in the hushed tones suitable for a place of wors.h.i.+p.

"From the Preacher's Book of Devotions Book of Devotions," Helms said. "If you are a Devotee, you will believe the Lord inspired him to set down chapter and verse through the agency of automatic writing. If you are not, you may conceivably hold some other opinion." Walton's scornful sniff gave some hint as to his views of the matter.

Before he could put them into words-if, indeed, that had been his intention-a man in a somber black suit (not clerical garb in any formal sense of the word, but distinctive all the same) came out from a room off to the left of the altar. "I thought I heard voices here," he said. "May I help you, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Athelstan Helms said. "I should like to meet the Preacher, and as expeditiously as may be practicable."

"As who would not?" returned the man in the black suit.

"You are the priest here?" Walton asked.

"I have the honor to be the rector, yes." The man stressed the proper word. Bowing slightly, he continued, "Henry Praeger, sir, at your service. And you would be-?" He broke off, sudden insight lighting his features. "Are you by any chance Helms and Walton?"

"How the devil did you know that?" Walton demanded.

"I daresay he read of our arrival in this morning's Hanover Herald Hanover Herald," Athelstan Helms said. "By now, half the capital will have done so. I did myself, at breakfast. Good to know I came here safely, what?"

Dr. Walton spluttered in embarra.s.sment. He had glanced at the newspaper while eating a not quite tender enough beefsteak and three eggs fried hard, but had missed the story in question.

Henry Praeger nodded eagerly. "I did, Mr. Helms, and wondered if you might call at a House, not really expecting mine to be the one you chose, of course. But I am honored to make your acquaintance-and yours, too, Dr. Walton." He could be charming when he chose.

Dr. Walton remained uncharmed. He murmured something m.u.f.fled to unintelligibility by the luxuriant growth of hair above his upper lip.

"You can can convey my desire to the Preacher?" Helms pressed. "His views on the present unfortunate situation are bound to be of considerable importance. If he believes that killing off his opponents and doubters will enhance his position or that of the House of Universal Devotion, I must tell you that I shall essay to disabuse him of this erroneous impression." convey my desire to the Preacher?" Helms pressed. "His views on the present unfortunate situation are bound to be of considerable importance. If he believes that killing off his opponents and doubters will enhance his position or that of the House of Universal Devotion, I must tell you that I shall essay to disabuse him of this erroneous impression."

"That has never been the policy of the House of Universal Devotion, Mr. Helms, nor of the Preacher," Henry Praeger said earnestly. "Those who claim otherwise seek to defame our church and discredit our leader."

"What about the men who a.s.suredly are deceased, and as a.s.suredly did not die of natural causes?" Dr. Walton inquired.

"What about them, sir?" Praeger returned. "Men die by violence all over the world, like. You will not claim the House of Universal Devotion is to blame for all of those unfortunate pa.s.sings, I hope?"

"Er-no," Walton said, though his tone suggested he might like to.

"When the men in question have either criticized the House or attempted to leave the embrace of its creed, I trust you will not marvel overmuch, Mr. Praeger, if some suspicion falls on the inst.i.tutions you represent," Athelstan Helms said.

"But I do marvel. I marvel very much," Praeger said. "That suspicion may fall on individuals . . . that is one thing. That it should fall on the House of Universal Devotion is something else again. The House is renowned throughout Atlantis, and in Terranova, and indeed in England, for its charity and generosity toward the poor and downtrodden, of whom there are in this sorry world far too many."

"The House is also renowned for its clannishness, its secrecy, and its curious, shall we say, beliefs, as well as for the vehemence with which its adherents cling to them," Helms said.

"Jews are renowned for the same thing," Henry Praeger retorted. "Do you believe the tales of ritual murder that come out of Russia?"

"No, for they are fabrications. I have looked into this matter, and know whereof I speak," Helms answered. "Here in Hanover, however, and elsewhere in this republic, men are unquestionably dead, as Dr. Walton reminded you a moment before. Also, the Jews have the justification of following custom immemorial, which you do not."

"You are right-we do not follow ancient usages," Praeger said proudly. "We take for ourselves the beliefs we require, and reshape them ourselves to our hearts' desire. That is the modern way. That is the Atlantean way. We are loyal to our country, sir, even if misguided officials persist in failing to understand us."

"You don't say anything about the dead 'uns," Walton remarked.

"I don't know anything about them. Nor do I know how to reach the Preacher." Praeger held up a hand before either Englishman could speak. "I shall talk to certain colleagues of mine. If, through them or their a.s.sociates, word of your desire reaches him, I am confident that he will in turn be able to reach you." His shrug seemed genuinely regretful. "I can do no more."

"Thank you for doing that much," Helms said. "Tell me one thing more, if you would: what do the symbols flanking the cross to either side signify to you?"

"Why, the truth, of course," Henry Praeger answered.

Dr. Walton was happy enough to play tourist in Hanover. Even if the city was young-almost infantile by Old World standards-there was a good deal to see, from the Curb Exchange Building to the Navy Yard to the cancan houses that were the scandal of Atlantis, and of much of Terranova and Europe as well (France, by all accounts, took them in stride). Walton returned from his visit happily scandalized.

Athelstan Helms went to no cancan houses. He set up a laboratory of sorts in their rooms, and paid the chambermaids not to clean it. When he wasn't fussing there with the daggers that had greeted him or the good doctor, he was poring over files of the Hanover Herald Hanover Herald he had prevailed upon Inspector La Strada to prevail upon the newspaper to let him see. he had prevailed upon Inspector La Strada to prevail upon the newspaper to let him see.

From sources unknown to Walton, Helms procured a violin, upon which he practiced at all hours until guests in the adjoining chambers pounded on the walls. Then, reluctantly, he was persuaded to desist.

"Some people," he said with the faintest trace of petulance, "have no appreciation for-"

"Good music," Dr. Walton said loyally.

"Well, actually, that is not what I was going to say," Helms told him. "They have no appreciation for the fact that any musician, good, bad, or indifferent, must regularly play his instrument if he is not to become worse. In the absence of any communication from the Preacher, what shall I do with my time?"

"You might tour the city," Walton suggested. "There is, I must admit, more to it than I would have expected."

"It is not London," Athelstan Helms said, as if that were all that required saying. In case it wasn't, he added a still more devastating sidebar: "It is not even Paris."

"Well, no," Walton said, "but have you seen the museum? Astonis.h.i.+ng relics of the honkers. Not just skeletons and eggsh.e.l.ls, mind you, but skins with feathers still on 'em. The birds might almost be alive."

"So might the men the House of Universal Devotion murdered," Helms replied, still in that tart mood. "They might almost be, but they are not."

"Also a fine selection of Atlantean plants," the good doctor said. "Those are as distinctive as the avifauna, if not more so. Some merely decorative, some ingeniously insectivorous, some from which we draw spices, and also some formidably poisonous."

That drew his particular friend's interest; Dr. Walton had thought it might. "I have made a certain study of the noxious alkaloids to be derived from plants," Helms admitted. "That one from southern Terranova, though a stimulant, has deleterious side effects if used for extended periods. Perhaps I should take advantage of the opportunity to observe the specimens from which the poisons are drawn."

"Perhaps you should, Helms," Walton said, and so it was decided.

The Atlantean Museum could not match its British counterpart in exterior grandeur. Indeed, but for the generosity of a Briton earlier in the century, there might not have been any Atlantean Museum. Living in the present and looking toward the future as they did, the inhabitants of Atlantis cared little for the past. The museum was almost deserted when Walton brought Helms back to it.

Helms sniffed at the exhibit of extinct honkers that had so pleased his a.s.sociate. Nor did a close-up view of the formidable beak and talons of a stuffed red-crested eagle much impress him. What purported to be a cuc.u.mber slug climbing up a redwood got him to lean forward to examine it more closely. He drew back a moment later, shaking his head. "It's made of plaster of Paris, and its trail is mucilage."