Part 32 (1/2)

”What paradox is this you propose?” Kelexel demanded. And he was proud that his voice remained level, calm and questing.

Gently, gently, Fraffin thought. He's well hooked, but he mustn't struggle with me too much -- not yet.

”An amusing thing,” Fraffin said. ”Observe.” He gestured at the pantovive's stage, manipulated the controls.

Kelexel turned reluctantly, stared at the projected scene -- the same drab room, the same barred window with its red and white curtains, the hissing radiator, Murphey seated in the same position at the scarred table. It was a tableau, identical with the scene they'd just watched except that another native sat behind Murphey, his back to the observers, a clipboard and papers on his knees.

Like Murphey, this new figure conveyed an impression of excessive bulk. The visible curve of cheek when he turned his head showed choleric. The back of his neck carried a sanitary, barber-sc.r.a.ped appearance.

A scattered stack of the inkblot cards lay on the table before Murphey. He was tapping a finger on the back of one of them.

As Kelexel studied the scene, he observed a subtle difference in Murphey. There was a suggestion of greater calm. He was more relaxed, more sure of himself.

Fraffin cleared his throat, said: ”The native writing on that pad is another witch doctor, Whelye, an a.s.sociate of Thurlow's. He has just finished administering the same test to Murphey. Observe him carefully.”

”Why?” Kelexel asked. This repet.i.tion of native rites was beginning to bore him.

”Just observe,” Fraffin said.

Abruptly, Murphey picked up the card he'd been tapping, looked at it, discarded it.

Whelye turned, raised his head to expose a round face, two b.u.t.tons of blue eyes, a steep shelf of nose and thin mouth. Satisfaction poured from him as though it were a light he shone on everything within range of his senses. In the satisfaction there lay a stalking craftiness.

”That card,” he said, his voice petulant. ”Why'd you look at that card again?”

”I . . . ah, just wanted another look,” Murphey said. He lowered his head.

”Do you see something new in it?”

”What I always see in it -- an animal skin.”

Whelye stared at the back of Murphey's head with a look of glee. ”An animal skin, the kind you trapped when you were a boy.”

”I made a lot of money off those skins. Always had an eye for money.”

Whelye's head bobbed up and down, a curious wracking motion that rippled a fold of flesh against his collar. ”Would you like a second look at any of the other cards?”

Murphey wet his lips with his tongue. ”Guess not.”

”Interesting,” Whelye murmured.

Murphey turned slightly, spoke without looking at the psychiatrist. ”Doc, maybe you'd tell me something.”

”What?”

”I had this test from another of you headshrinkers, you know -- from Thurlow. What's it show?”

Something fierce and pouncing arose in Whelye's face. ”Didn't Thurlow tell you?”

”No. I figured you're more of a right guy, that you'd level with me.”