Chapter 4

"A show!"  said the Grand Master, grimly. He  settled himself well into hisfurs,  and  one thin  hand  grasped  the iron  cudgel  he used  as a  cane.
"And gold, your Veneration.""And gold," agreed the Grand Master, carelessly.
Ponyets  set the  box  down and  opened it  with as  fine an  appearance ofconfidence  as he  could manage.  He felt  alone in  the face  of universalhostility; the way he  had felt out in space his first year. The semicircleof bearded  councilors who faced him  down, stared unpleasantly. Among themwas  Pherl, the  thin-faced favorite who  sat next  to the Grand  Master instiff  hostility.  Ponyets  had   met  him  once  already  and  marked  himimmediately  as   prime  enemy,  and,  as   a  consequence,  prime  victim.
Outside  the hall,  a small  army awaited  events. Ponyets  was effectivelyisolated from his ship;  he lacked any weapon, but his attempted bribe; andGorov was still a hostage.
He made the final adjustments on the clumsy monstrosity that had cost him aweek of  ingenuity, and prayed once again  that the lead-lined quartz wouldstand the strain.
"What is it?" asked the Grand Master.
"This," said Ponyets, stepping  back, "is a small device I have constructedmyself.""That is  obvious, but it is  not the information I want.  Is it one of theblack-magic abominations of your world?""It is nuclear in  nature, admitted Ponyets, gravely, "but none of you needtouch it, or have anything to do with it. It is for myself alone, and if itcontains   abominations,  I   take  the   foulness  of  it   upon  myself."The Grand  Master had raised his iron cane at  the machine in a threateninggesture and his lips  moved rapidly and silently in a purifying invocation.
The thin-faced councilor at  his right leaned towards him and his straggledred  mustache  approached  the Grand  Master's  ear.  The ancient  Askonianpetulantly shrugged himself free.
"And what  is the connection of  your instrument of evil  and the gold thatmay save your countryman's life?""With this  machine," began  Ponyets, as his  hand dropped softly  onto thecentral chamber  and caressed its hard, round flanks,  "I can turn the ironyou discard into gold of the finest quality. It is the only device known toman that will take iron ?the ugly iron, your Veneration, that props up thechair you sit in and the walls of this building ?and change it to shining,heavy, yellow gold."Ponyets felt  himself botching it. His usual  sales talk was smooth, facileand plausible;  but this limped like a shot-up space  wagon. But it was thecontent, not the form, that interested the Grand Master.
"So? Transmutation? Men have  been fools who have claimed the ability. Theyhave paid for their prying sacrilege.""Had they succeeded?""No."  The Grand Master  seemed coldly  amused. "Success at  producing goldwould have  been a crime that  carried its own antidote.  It is the attemptplus the  failure that is fatal.  Here, what can you  do with my staff?" Hepounded the floor with it.
"Your Veneration  will excuse me. My  device is a small  model, prepared bymyself, and your staff is too long."The Grand  Master's small  shining eye wandered and  stopped, "Randel, yourbuckles.  Come,   man,  they   shall  be  replaced  double   if  need  be."The buckles  passed down the line,  hand to hand. The  Grand Master weighedthem thoughtfully.
"Here," he said, and threw them to the floor.
Ponyets picked them up.  He tugged hard before the cylinder opened, and hiseyes blinked and squinted  with effort as he centered the buckles carefullyon  the anode  screen.  Later, it  would be  easier  but there  must  be nofailures the first time.
The  homemade transmuter  crackled malevolently  for ten minutes  while theodor of ozone became faintly present. The Askonians backed away, muttering,and again Pherl whispered urgently into his ruler's ear. The Grand Master'sexpression was stony. He did not budge.
And the buckles were gold.
Ponyets  held  them  out  to  the  Grand  Master  with  a  murmured,  "YourVeneration!" but the old  man hesitated, then gestured them away. His starelingered upon the transmuter.
Ponyets  said rapidly,  "Gentlemen,  this is  pure gold.  Gold  through andthrough. You  may subject it to every known  physical and chemical test, ifyou   wish   to   prove   the  point.   It   cannot   be  identified   fromnaturally-occurring gold in any  way. Any iron can be so treated. Rust willnot   interfere,  not   will  a   moderate  amount  of   alloying  metals?
But Ponyets  spoke only to fill a vacuum. He let  the buckles remain in hisoutstretched   hand,  and   it   was  the   gold  that   argued   for  him.
The  Grand Master  stretched out a  slow hand  at last, and  the thin-facedPherl  was roused  to open  speech. "Your  Veneration, the  gold is  from apoisoned source."And Ponyets  countered, "A rose can grow from  the mud, your Veneration. Inyour  dealings with  your  neighbors, you  buy material  of  all imaginablevariety,  without  inquiring as  to  where  they get  it,  whether from  anorthodox   machine  blessed   by  your   benign  ancestors  or   from  somespace-spawned outrage. Come, I  don't offer the machine. I offer the gold.""Your Veneration,"  said Pherl,  "you are not  responsible for the  sins offoreigners who work neither  with your consent nor knowledge. But to acceptthis strange pseudo-gold made  sinfully from iron in your presence and withyour consent  is an affront to  the living spirits of  our holy ancestors.""Yet  gold is  gold," said  the Grand  Master, doubtfully,  "and is  but anexchange for  the heathen person of  a convicted felon. Pherl,  you are toocritical." But he withdrew his hand.
Ponyets said, "You are  wisdom, itself, your Veneration. Consider ?to giveup a  heathen is to lose nothing for your  ancestors, whereas with the goldyou get in exchange you can ornament the shrines of their holy spirits. Andsurely, were gold evil in itself, if such, a thing could be, the evil woulddepart  of  necessity  once   the  metal  were  put  to  such  pious  use.""Now by the bones of my grandfather," said the Grand Master with surprisingvehemence. His lips separated in a shrill laugh, "Pherl, what do you say ofthis young man?  The statement is valid. It is as valid  as the words of myancestors."Pherl said  gloomily, "So it would  seem. Grant that the  validity does notturn out to be a device of the Malignant Spirit.""I'll  make it  even  better," said  Ponyets, suddenly.  "Hold the  gold inhostage. Place  it on the altars of your ancestors  as an offering and holdme for  thirty days. If  at the end of  that time, there is  no evidence ofdispleasure ? if no disasters occur  ?surely, it would  be proof that theoffering was accepted. What more can be offered?"And when the Grand Master rose to his feet to search out disapproval, not aman in  the council failed to  signal his agreement. Even  Pherl chewed theragged end of his mustache and nodded curtly.
Ponyets  smiled  and  meditated  on  the  uses of  a  religious  education.