Prison of Night

"You!" The twisted fingers of. the old monk had been an accusing claw. "You laughed-why? Did you think I was a fool? That I tended to exaggerate? That I distorted the truth? Don't bother to answer." Then, in a lower voice, he had continued. "If you hope for personal reward or high office or the love and respect of those you are dedicated to serve, then you do not belong here. If you yearn for power or pain the same applies. Pain you will get and discomfort and suffering. You will know disappointment and see the work of years destroyed in a moment. You will be scorned and held in contempt, robbed and beaten, used and ignored, hated and despised. Yet, if in the deepest recesses of your heart, you long to be so treated, then you have no place here. Man is not born to suffer. There is no intrinsic virtue in pain. Those who seek it are enemies of the Church. If any sit here I tell you now to go. Go!"

No one coughed when he paused, no one giggled, but still there remained a little doubt. It vanished as the old monk stripped off his robe and displayed his naked body. His flesh-and the things which had been done to it.

"God!" whispered the man next to Eldon. "Dear God!"

"The reward of patience," said Hoji. "It happened on Flackalove. A small settlement that, I thought, had accepted me. For three years I was with them and then came a drought. Plague followed and children died. They needed someone to blame." Pausing he donned his robe then added, quietly, "God gave me the strength to live and to continue helping my fellows. Now it is safe for a monk to stay on that world."

Eldon felt again the cold shiver which had touched him at the calm understatement. How the man must have suffered! The injuries, even though now healed-he could not bear even now to think of them. Nor understand how the man had found the courage to continue on the path he had chosen.

Half the class had left at the end of the first three months. Half the remainder at the end of the first year. By the time the training period was over only two others had stayed together with himself. Three from twenty-a good average.

And now it was pleasant to sit in the warm and drift into worlds of memory in which old friends came to greet him and old places became new again: Even remembered pain became less demanding, became a part of the joy in serving, of his dedication. And it had not always been pain, though rarely had there been comfort. And now, old, in charge of this church, he could afford to relax a little. To let others share the burden. Others who…

After a while Brother Biul came in to rewrap the blanket and to ease the old man's limbs so as to avoid the danger of cramp. He looked, he thought, surprisingly young, the seamed and wrinkled face now plumped a little, the lips curved as if, in his dreams, he smiled.

Then he saw the stillness of the throat, the flaccidity of the great arteries and knew the old man would never smile again.

* * *

"Dead?" Kars Gartok frowned. "The old monk dead? But how? I was talking to him only hours ago."

"I know." The officer was polite. "That is why I am here. A routine matter, you understand. A formality. Did he say anything? Complain of feeling unwell, perhaps?"

"No."

"He mentioned no one who had threatened him?"

"No."

"Your cooperation would be appreciated."

"You're getting it," snapped Gartok. He turned and strode across the room, faced the wall, turned and took three steps back again. Like the hotel the chamber was not of the best, the furnishings worn, the carpet faded, the walls stained. One pane of the window was cracked and the radiator which should have warmed the place was failing in its duty. Even the light was dim. "He was at the gate, begging, you know how the monks operate. We talked for a while, he was eager for news and I gave him what I had. Then I left. Is there suspicion of foul play?"

"No." The officer relaxed and tucked away his notebook. "As I said this is a routine matter. The Church has friends on Ilyard and, well, you understand."

Friends of influence, who else could have given the monks permission to establish themselves here? No planet dedicated to war would welcome those who preached the doctrine of peace. The officer was naturally being cautious.

Gartok said, "How did he die?"

"He was old. He should have known better than to stand in the cold. It could have been the final straw. Personally I think that he'd just lived out his life." The officer glanced around the chamber. "No luck on your last engagement?"

"No."

"Too bad, but we can't all win." He spoke with the casual indifference of a man who couldn't care less. "Well, thank you for your patience. If you're looking for work you could do worse than try the High Endeavour. It's on Secunda Avenue close to Breine."

"I know where it is, but isn't Delthraph in business now?"

"He was shot in an argument last month. Creditors sold his business and the new owner isn't established yet. Try the High Endeavour. It's your best choice."