Lord of the Trees by Philip José Farmer

by the side of the strip out of the valley and to the right around the mountain. This took us up along the mountain. The driver, a Zanzibarian wearing a fez, sped like a maniac along the dangerous road with the right wheels often a few inches from a sheer dropoff. Finally Murtagh, whose back had been making him wince, told the driver to slow down. Murtagh was not suffering as much as he would if he had not been a servant of the Nine. The ointment was swiftly healing the lash wounds and deadened most of the pain. It was another product of Caliban’sgenius and would have been a boon to the world if it could have gotten it. But this, like so many of Caliban’s inventions, was restricted for use among those who served the Nine. I suppose that the ancients of the oaken table liked to keep such things for themselves. Also, if Caliban had been allowed to reveal a small fraction of his inventions, he would have been the most famous man in the world. The Nine did not want him publicized. In fact, Caliban’s original career as a brain surgeon at a prominent New York hospital had been cut short by the Nine. He had attracted too much attention with his great skill and the new techniques and tools he introduced.
    The jeep went along so slowly then that we could talk easily. Murtagh said, “You answered every question and we have already radioed the information. Your men will be scooped up. Caliban will soon be caught.”
    “You mean that you drugged me on the plane?”
    The reflection of the headlights from the grayish mountain walls on our left lit up his features. He smiled and said, “Yes. The drug was in your food. Even so, you were a reluctant subject. I had to use all my knowledge to dredge up the information. But you talked. And the men you’ve been using will be taken.”
    “They had no idea they were fighting the Nine,” I said. “In fact, as far as I know, they have never heard of the Nine.”
    He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. They were helping you against us.”
    The men had known they could be in great danger if they helped me. They had been well paid, and they were expecting to die if things did not go well. But I still felt that, in some obscure sense, I had betrayed them. Rationally, I knew that I could nothave helped talking. Knowing that did not erase a sense of guilt.
    His statement that Caliban would soon be caught could not be based on anything I had told him. Caliban has his own organization, and while there was verbal contact between his men and mine, there was no way for Murtagh to find a path leading from my men to Caliban’s.
    Then I suppressed a groan. Murtagh must have seen some tremor and guessed the thought that made me sick.
    “Oh, yes, you told us where your wife was.”
    He waited. Seeing that I would not reply, he added, “If it’s any consolation to you, we’ll be bringing her to you. We wouldn’t want to separate a man and his wife.”
    There was always the chance that Clio might get away, but I told only myself that. He was not going to get any satisfaction out of my responses if I could help it.
    But I was so furious—though more at myself than at him—that I might have seized him and jumped over the side of the trail and down the mountain, if I had been able. But my hands had been cuffed behind me and my legs were chained to an eyebolt on the jeep floor. And Murtagh and another man held pistols on me.
    Murtagh said, “There is no doubt about the great capabilities of yourself and Caliban. Of course, you should have been candidates. But the fact that XauXaz was your grandfather must have been the main reason why you two were picked to fight for his seat.”
    He could not have known that unless he had questioned me while I was drugged. He was playing a dangerous game, since the Nine did not like inquiries into their personal business. Butthen any man who qualified as candidate for a seat at the table did not lack guts.
    That he felt it necessary to reassure himself that nepotism