Gorgoroth (Haladras #2)

THIRTY-TWO

Rolander checked the door latch to his bedchamber. Locked. He was not surprised. It had been locked the last five times he'd tried it. Why was it locked, though? Just like Krom's claim, it didn't make sense.

He returned to his workbench where he absently fondled his mechanical hand. The marvel of human engineering was nearly complete. All five fingers were assembled now, their tiny motors and actuators ready for calibration. That's all which remained for the device to be operational: fine tune the finger motions to ensure proper mimicry of the human hand. Once that steps was performed, the hand would be fitted onto Rolander's nub, and the electrode arrays inserted into his muscles. This last part always made him cringe to think of. Electrodes, implanted beneath his skin. A requisite process for the hand to replicate the behavior of a natural hand. He understood that. He trusted Jonobar. Anyone else, and talk of electrode implantation was out of the question.

He trusted Jonobar.

Should he trust Jonobar? Krom had called him Morvath. A defamation which Jonobar did not refute. Then there were the Tors. What dealings did Jonobar have with them? Rolander knew of the illegal tea. That was a simple thing. Consorting with the enemy was viewed as high treason on Ahlderon. That Jonobar would do such a thing...simple, disheveled, academic Jonobar...the idea was perposterous. Jonobar and Morvath could not be the same person. Then again, Jonobar understood that Tracker quite well for one who is not an expert in automata. Of course, he didn't build the Tracker himself. None knew how to do that save Morvath alone. Unless Jonobar truly was Morvath...

A sudden rap at the door made Rolander jump. The rap was followed by the rattling of the lock. Then a clink and a squeak as the door swung open. A man dressed in a dark robe stepped into the threshold. The man's brown hair, cropped short, was highlighted with streaks of gray. His face was clean-shaven. Rolander had never seen the man before in his life.

"I don't expect you to recognize me without my beard and hat," said the man.

Rolander knew that voice. But it didn't belong to this stranger who stood before him.

The man stepped into the bedchamber and closed the door behind him.

"I know how you must be suffering," said the man with Jonobar's voice. "We men of science and learning like to be in control of the facts, the data. We want to be able to explain our world through theorem, formulae, laws of matter. No physical law, however, can explain away my true identity."

"Then you admit that you're Morvath?" replied Rolander, quietly.

Jonobar bowed at the waist, flourishing his hand in the air as he did so, just as he'd done when Rolander first met him.

"Morvath, at your service."

"Then you've lied to me this whole time, deceived me," said Rolander, anger rising in his throat. "Those weren't tea leaves you had me smuggle into the castle, were they? They were the Trackers that killed everyone!"

did not reel at Rolander's harsh accusations. He stood calm as ever, patiently waiting for Rolander to finish.

"You knew they weren't tea leaves when you brought that box into the castle, Rolander. You didn't know what it contained. Only that it wasn't tea leaves. Your intelligence wouldn't allow you to fully accept that fabricated story of mine. Would it?"

Jonobar went on before Rolander could answer.

"You have right to feel ire toward me. With trust, you performed a favor for me. With trust, you permitted me to be your tutor...and, I believe, your friend. I betrayed that trust, knowingly. Yet, I did not do it out of malice, spite, or with disregard for your feelings. I did it to protect you. Suppose you had been caught bringing a chest full of Trackers into the castle. A chest you knew contained Trackers. You would not have been able to honestly claimed innocence.